November 7 Poem

My name is Odysseus,

and my life is the Odyssey.

At least under the surface

it seems that way, because

in my dreams I’m always

trying to get home but

I never quite make it.

Too many obstacles.

 

One time I was driving

cross-country trying to

get home, to California,

and just when I thought

I was almost there,

I discovered I was in

the middle of Kansas.

 

Or the time I was

trying to get home from

a trip and my flight

was diverted for some reason,

first to Virginia, then Egypt,

and finally I ended up

somewhere in Eastern Europe.

I wandered through so many airports

looking for connecting flights,

but could never find one.

 

Once I was on a trip on the

East Coast when war broke out.

I joined the resistance and

went underground, hiding

and fighting, always

wondering about my family

and if they were okay.

Just when I thought I could

escape and head home

I was pulled back in.

 

After many months

I finally made it back

and was hiding in the hills

near my house, but was

cautious, knowing that

I couldn’t just show up at

my own house. After all,

I was a resistance fighter.

I made my way to my

brother’s house, and from

a distance, signaled for him

to meet me. He tried to

convince to me come in,

that is wasn’t so bad;

I turned and fled back

into the hills before

he could betray me.

 

I’m always so close,

but end up circling

around my home

never quite able

to get there. I can’t

read the map clearly,

or the road leads in

the wrong direction,

I’m given false information,

or I’m just simply lost.

 

And so I remain a

wanderer, out there

somewhere, on the run,

just trying to get home,

back to those I love,

but there are too many

roadblocks, too many

missed turns, too much

confusion and frustration,

and so I remain forever

running.

 

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