When I come back from long bicycle adventures, sometimes I want to still sleep outside or not want to get re-integrated into my job or fitting in. Sometimes homeless people who are placed in long term housing settings also have a hard time fitting in. They do things like sleep with their windows open in the middle of winter, sleep on the floor even though a bed is provided, or leave the refrigerator door open with their food in it. Some of the homeless people tell me that they like being homeless. I don’t know if this is making the best of a bad situation, or simply such a contrast being living fully indoors. I heard that the hardest part of being in the peace corp is coming back home and seeing how rich America is. This is a poem about all that.
I was already home.
This place within my head, warmth enough,
Food enough, tough enough to find the next spot
What I got right now is what I must need all around
My two hands and the sounds floating right past.
This world I slide under, outcast I can’t remember,
My home on my shoulders, bring it in to the campfire smoulders.
Crack, pop of the wood, smoke rise in the wind at the end of my day.
I say, May you rest in the peace as the trees start to breathe
The moon lights the leaves, the chill of the breeze, flamed wood as I please,
The rustling red and yellow carpet, coyotes singing out their hearts spent.
This hidden space with no place and no time,
a secret accident of the world’s design.
I’m a person out here, no one needs to care, stomach full, nothing to pull
Me except the abject misery of sealing my sleeping bag and tent around me
And realizing I still have to get up and go pee.
And I rode halfway back to this world, my home left where my heart is,
Freeze my fear like deer in the headlights,
staring down the tunnel of success in a dead fight,
TV blaring, even classical music glaring, people wearing
on me, city surrounding, talking skimming through me.
I tell you the road was my home, Roam free as a crow,
Live my life slow, I need no place to go.