𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎

A Poem On Beginnings That Never Ended

You grip the wheel
and roll through the 2, 5, 10 miles
that were once your entire world.

Empty space beyond the borders -
and black holes within it.
The lines between fact and myth
as faded as the lanes on main street.

You pass the empty lots
where sad structures once stood;
counting the day they’d be euthanized
into bulldozed rubble.

The park swings -
the ones where sober you once soared -
and stoned you once bled;
and on both occasions, secretly hoping
that someone -
anyone - might see.

You drive past restaurant windows.
The ones unchanged,
loyal to a past that no longer exists or matters.
And the ones that have changed
name and furniture countless times -
trying to catch up to a future it missed -
trading vinyl for velvet
while serving the same shitty eggs.

The theater you escaped to.
Even if every film felt the same.
The bleachers
where fluids were exchanged
under anxious stars and waning moons.

You pass the graveyards -
and dig up a random memory
of those you’ve buried.
Never the ones you’d want -
neither the people nor the memories.
Someone you secretly loved and never told.
And something silly and forgettable
to everyone but you.
And twenty years later you finally grieve.

You slow down past the yard
that was once your kingdom -
and is now under someone else’s rule.
And the cedars.
Why the fuck did they remove those.
They never did anything to anyone.

You play through all the mulligans,
script-changes,
and do-overs
that might’ve made things different.
And you play them all out
until you get dizzy and bored.

You drive through heartache unfelt.
You stand in the spot
you wanted to scream but stood frozen.
The doorway your innocence left through.
And the one who spent decades trying to find it.

And you’re brought back.
No matter who you’ve been since.
The peaks climbed and
the victories won.

You are still all those people -
and paradoxically none.
Inescapable imprints.
Firsts and lasts.
Accidental beginnings
and unintended climaxes.

Wandering ghosts
that never knew they died.
Ready to be walked back home.
Distant memories
with hearts that still weigh -
waiting to be held in the gentle hands
of that which has been hovering beneath the whole time; whispering; fall into me.
Rest yourself here.

And you park.
Because it’s time this ride ends.
And you realize:
that home is nowhere -
and everywhere at once.
And perhaps, you finally find peace.

Hendrix Black, 2023