You are the only one of your kind
who does not return home to nest,
opting, instead, to venture wherever you feel
like, beaching new pockets of earth.
Maybe your instincts have misfired,
a product of mutated genes gone wrong,
your idea of home morphed,
lost in the translation of generations.
Maybe you are too strong
to be anchored by connection,
your weight acting as a tether to the world.
Maybe you are too punk to be familial,
pitch black, leather jacket covering your organs,
angst and rebellion keeping you home. It is okay.
I will forgive you for leaving, and I will not
expect you to return. When I visit the ocean,
I will watch for noses breaking the surface.
Visual art by Jonathan Brooks