Homecoming

By Diya Singh

There’s a peculiar stillness in my hometown

When I visit it in the wintertime;

The birds all run on military time

And the weather has not yet made up its mind. 

Sandstorm, slipknot

I am suffocated!The stale air and the loose chill in the breeze 

Is indistinguishable from that four years ago.

It is as though all the objects of my pained past 

Are preserved to perfection - rushing at me now, in breakneck speed, 

Past the life in my proverbial rear-view mirror. 

And what’s really enchanting about this mess 

Is that I am no longer in it. 

It’s much alike staring at a photo album 

With all the pictures blacked out and ripped-up, 

Or like listening to your favorite song 

With all the familiar, gut-wrenching words missing.

What a strange way to christen the year end - 

Devoid of all the love that once made me ache. 

How novel this crushing revelation is!I have packed up my luggage and returned this winter, 

But, perhaps someone forgot to mention

I was not coming home.

I was coming home to the life I had turned down - the ache I replaced, 

And the grief that I could not shoulder past sixteen. 

For there’s a stillness in my hometown, 

It’s a stillness I can feel in my very core this time of year. 

By Diya Singh