ten years and countless dreams later

I sit across from that familiar lawn 

where the spires of juniper trees have since waned 

and the once red house is now a chalky blue

like the dust of limestone, the aged pavement 

looks coarse and cracked 

where the swell of grass dips 

to touch the driveway

where we’d wait for the school bus every morning. 

I wish I could call you home.

I wish I could  lay my head by nana’s dogwood tree

under a dappled, summer sun

and feel whole like a person who comes 

from people and places they can still touch.