Call It Home
by Myra Wollman
Come, and I’ll show you what I mean.
There’s a small town where we could go
A place I know, where they won’t notice
A few old houses and a lawn that’s overgrown.
Come, let’s make a place for you and me,
And everyone who can’t quite find a way to be
Here. Let’s leave it all behind and see
If we can redefine some words
Like happiness and worth, let’s make a place
Where value’s seen in the many shades of green
Hidden in the shadows of the trees, in how long you hold
The hymn’s last note; if you want gold
I’ll gather all the leaves up from the road
I’ll collect the grain that’s spilled from harvest’s load
I’ll capture the setting sun’s last glow
and exchange it for the things you know.
Come and see just what I mean, and if at close of day
You choose to stay, we’ll call it home.
Myra Wollman lives in the cold north, where she spends her days in the classroom and her nights looking for comets in the starry sky.
Photography by Kenneth Godoy