where I’m from

A poem inspired by rarasaur’s post yesterday.

I am from cracked city benches
From crochet needles
and overworked hands
I am from doubt and indignation
I am from artichokes
Their buds worth gold
Their blossoms forlorn
I am from a well,
well-used and abandoned
And chickpeas and figs
plucked green from the vine
I am from the lane
by the tracks
and where one must
look twice before crossing
And all roads not taken
Now only lead
to facsimiles of Rome
Abused and abandoned
let me find my own way

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