Poetry

Homeworld

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                         You were my crib;
then my cellar cell, whose overhead 
 
          door I banged on night 
                           and day to wake you; then my grave
 
          but no, you weren’t a coffin
                               exactly. I was in
 
              suspended animation. Inside an escape pod.  
          Nightly your computer took a breath for me.
 
                        26,000 years later,
     as the hatch blew open, I rubbed 
 
                                nuggets of sleep 
                        from my eyes. I breathed an air
 
                                                    whose purity made me faint
                then stared stupidly at the new sky. Volcanic
 
     music, a seltzer ocean, warm nightsthe homeworld is
                        now. You took me so far.

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