other ways home

my GPS took me a different
way home--

& by that i mean google maps
was picking out a new
place for me--

after all
these stoplights i would
arrive somewhere--

somewhere un-nameable--

a green doormat & a porch
complete with wind chimes--
the low & empty bamboo type

that sound more like bones 
than bluebird fingers--

the neon laughter of
storefronts found me-- 

windows rolled down--

rain staining me purple--

or was i red in under the 
inevitable blaze of

stoplight after stoplight
after stoplight--

i prayed
dear god,

if i don't reach the 
highway soon i will die

with all this speed limit 
in my fingers--

going to a different
home--

maybe three states over
in a town where
i will become

a mailman or maybe a school
teacher--

your voice is a phone call
ringing-- telling me
how at the end of
the day you pulled the
sheet up over your head

& cried  

oh how i wish the sky 
followed me like it does you--

maybe it's taking me to nebraska 
near where you want 
to go to become a 
franciscan--

i always picture you making
eggs early in the morning 
on a gas stove top--

long brown robe--

i wanted to tell you
about my car windows fogging up--

about how i pressed my
hand in the glass &
imagined this was a submarine

& the coral reef hummed only
as a handful of OPEN signs &
the red glow of cigarette butts
sizzling in the mist--

is this my home now?

with a wreath made of tin-cans
& doorknobs made
of bottle caps--

gravel driveway
& flood waters 

rising up the street--

i don't tell you 
that i'm lost--

or rather i don't tell
you that my GPS is holding my
hand & whispering 

speaking in left turns 
& door frames--

building me a house from 
the celestial material
of this lost august storm--

pouring planets--

jupiters & neptunes--
solid as marbles 
ricocheting off

the hood of my green volvo

i get out of the car
while it's moving

& there's the house
where we grew up

only it's slimmer & 
sits on a different main street

in a small town 
so much  like our own

with neon ghosts
up past their bed times--

are you coming to visit me?

will you love
me when i lose all sense of
addresses?

an episodic sibling--

a hand pressed in the fog 
of you car window--

hollow bamboo femurs--

don't tell anyone else
where i've gone--

trust the GPS angels

& trust the god of neon &
fried eggs