We, Misplaced

Pleased to say, this one won me the 2012 Hudson Valley Writers Guild Poetry Prize.

Someone keeps talking about home.

Someone keeps talking like I’m not there.

I don’t know why. I’m here.

I am told I need to be watched.

 

I know no one believes me when I talk.

When you don’t know what day it is,

no one trusts you about anything important.

I’m told I’m not alone. People I don’t love tell me this.

People I love are somewhere else.

They stay there.

 

I know the sounds of my nails on my scalp

 are louder,

more memorable,

more reassuring,

than anything said to me so far.

 

I don’t know what’s going on today.

I know there’s nothing to do.

I don’t want to do anything specific.

 

I know I am far from home.

 

I know there are stacks of papers with my name on them.

I see someone make marks on them when I get upset,

use the bathroom,

walk around too much,

say anything.

Someone makes a great show of putting them in order.

I am meant to be put in order.

 

I am meant to tell a story of myself.

 

I am this, I am these.

Here is the place I am from.

Here are people I know.

Here are things I have said, things I have done.

Here are places I have been.

 

I am handed this story,

            about me,

in pieces, I repeat it,

everyday, I am told, over and over,

it becomes a map meant to show me home.

 

Someone is always talking about home.

I don’t really know what this means.

Reviews

[ChemicalMadness]

This is a very strong and touching piece. What you've put together here moves so well and speaks so loudly....you don't have to give every little thing texture, but when you choose wisely where to dive deep, you end up with simple beauty. This was fantastic work.

CM.

[Sami Khalil]

Congrat on the win. A splendid read and write...:)

[Steven]

'People I love are somewhere else.
They stay there.'

Great lines.