fort fairfield

by Linda M. Crate
         
i wasn't born there,
but it became my home —
the whispers of
birds between the pines
and scarlet sunsets
prettiest in the middle of
nowhere; indigo ink scattered
only by stars, it was close
enough to what i knew for me
to adopt it as a place i've
always been and forever would
be; so now that i'm not there it reminds
me only how much i miss the pieces
i left behind in maine —
you most of all, hidden beneath
silver blonde hair with eyes as blue
as the kiss of ocean water in italy;
it was there that i knew belonging it's not
here in this area once known as 'home' —
burn a hole through my heart,
crisp away all this bitterness let me swallow
another maine's crescent moon;
forget me not in this wasteland of snow
and apathy, let me fly back to you
on the wings of the strongest cardinal winter
can provide because you're the only
place of me left that isn't numb.