As much as I had hoped weekdays would provide time for revisions, with student teaching and school, the time just isn't there.
If only I had a Tardis.
No going back in your own timeline, though. On second thought, that may not work.
Hopefully this is a bit tighter than it's previous rendition. I think it still needs some work, but we're going to start here.
Origins
I am drinking green tea from China,
bought from a Polish bulk foods store,
seasoned with cinnamon from an Indian grocer,
sweetened with Michigan honey.
I scribble with a Holiday Inn pen
from a stay in Spring Lake, Michigan,
but made in Taiwan.
I am from Grosse Pointe
and Detroit, Michigan,
but also Terre Haute, Indiana.
Not the city, but the scruff along
the edges. The dust and the single
room shanties. Ford trucks and
Larry Bird paraphernalia and
too dry summers that make
the rows of corn weep.
The stalks sag from the sun,
shiver in the wind.
I am not from the city,
or the country, but somewhere
nestled in between
where the dialects of each generation
melt to form the language
farm to city to suburb
zink, sink
sal-ary, celery
drawel, pause
nasal vowels
forgotten consonants
voices in harmony, but also
timeless, placeless cacophony.
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