Home Bound

Let a little water, I pray you, be fetched, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree: And I will fetch a morsel of bread, and comfort ye your hearts; after that ye shall pass on

- Genesis 18:4 

 ACT I

When she passed away, her warm womb passed away with her

My first home before the onslaught of lights, sounds, pain

And a loud instinctual cry that became my first possession

Before land, rent, private property, trespassers will be persecuted

I was home

I was sheltered, having to move on after nine gestational months

A call to adventure was my slippery birth through a pressured canal 

A slow rollercoaster ride that goes one way and one way only

Legend has it that spartan mothers would lift their skirts in disgust 

If a son deserted the army hoping to be met with compassion at home

"Is this where you are running back to?" His mother would snarl

Ashamed, and crestfallen, he would return to the bloody battlefield 

Rather death than living with the contempt on his mother's face

When the folds of her dress came down, a universal curtain closing

I mourn the end of that particular prenatal play, paradise paved over

With my infant body as a prop, I made sombre peace with 

The adventure I had been entranced and entrance-d into

All the world's a stage: 

ACT II 

Hostile salmon walls painted with bitterness were closing in on me

This place was becoming procrustean in its daily demands of duty

Instead of rest, resentments. Instead of freedom, fears. Instead of time

To find one's way, threats to limbs, livelihood and eventually life

Hotel California: A vortex of a place making leaving impossible 

Pulling me and others into sordid psychologies of crablike people

Moving sideways in duplicity, piled into a dusty bucket of a township

I reached escape velocity, fortunately, through another's overreach

Meant to crawl until the skin on my knees tore open begging to stay

Instead, I took the chance, I rolled myself beneath an iron gate 

That had momentarily lifted, coming down with such force

That it would put a smile on Procrustes' face, an amputation sound 

Hauntings of a city besieged; I overrode the impulse of wanting back in

I faced North and braved the racist winters that looked like sunshine 

With my cameo body as an act of resistance, I made painful peace with 

The adventure I had been entreated and ill-treated into 

All the world's a stage: 

ACT III

Unlike Othello, I submitted to the knowledge that drizzled on me 

Soaking reality into me even if the truth was too much shiver to swallow

Man, I'll miss this matinee of Joburg summer thunderstorms, prophetically

If it wasn't for the technology I carry on my back like the shell of a tortoise

I wouldn't try to avoid the downpour but would let it have its way with me

Pula, pula, nkgodise ke tla gola leng! Pula, pula, nkgodise ke tla gola leng!

With this porous shell on my back, I may not carry home like the tortoise 

But I do carry work with me on my back, I also travel caravan light

Which affords me a clean floor to roll out my metaphorical sleeping bag 

Of few earthly possessions out on; remote work and remote living 

I do not recognize myself in any of these well moisturized Surburban faces 

With their pretences and wasting away of precious life through endless comforts

No one is truly invested in anything meaningful around these parts

They don't pour themselves into anything with abandon: full hearts, clear eyes

Having never experienced an inexorable devotion to a worthwhile pursuit 

Without it being an ostentatious display of wealth and greasy social capital

I, who wears my gifts and talents like Hendrix his guitar, do not recognize

The me I am becoming in any of these tepid faces with watered down values

Using their children as pawns in power struggles, the seal has been tampered with

They say you can't choose your family, but you sure can choose your community

Without invoking the spirit of Cain, I am grateful for the technology on my back

A portal through which I can glimpse communities made of my kind of people

The compass of my heart points to Cookeville, call it quantum entanglement

The synchronicity of a piece of coral reef that has drifted too far from home

But I am not alone: Japanese Maples, Chinaberries, and Shellbark Hickories 

My daily walks consist of bowing from one tree to another, a heartfelt homage 

To these green stalwarts that redeem these places with soul and the sacred

A sacrifice that I do not take for granted, they stay and empower me to move on

With my youthful body as the star of the show, I made joyful peace with 

The adventure I had been enticed and anticipated into

All the world's a stage:

And there's a small corner of it where my yoga mat fits snugly

Like a final puzzle piece lost and found