At Home
At Home
by Darryl Davis
Hold this while I pack…
…or am I unpacking?
Neither, really, they’re just
two fallacies eyeballing
us, we shed our skins
whenever we grow out of them
or they grow weary of us
and we slither towards some
familiar thickets to scratch
our bellies, or to bathe in the
long dewy grass, home is
whenever the outside meets
the inside without touching
frequency is a matter of wear
You can keep that…
…I never use it
ummm. Packing or unpacking? Home or Hell? Starting out…ending up…why can’t we just ‘be’? –with no worry about ‘is’ or ‘isn’t’ or ‘there’ or ‘climbing’? hmmm. There certainly is a quagmire and pitfall to overdoing it on our life goals and reaching happiness (if we look at a larger picture in the line of thinking that this poem enables us to ruminate on).
i like the way the poet presents the reader with a question right off the bat and then proceeds to liken ourselves (and way of thinking) to snakes slithering in fallacious grass.
Love this ending that alludes to the inner tuning fork of our being:
” home is
whenever the outside meets
the inside without touching
frequency is a matter of wear
You can keep that…
…I never use it”