On Belonging
San Francisco you monolith!
How do I call you by name
Before the kettle boils
Before the coffee’s cold
Before my 23rd birthday
How blithely you sit in the inflight
Underneath my waterline
You fit in my mouth, perfectly
Like a tongue
Like my right shoe, rather than my left
Like a tooth regrown in late childhood
Like late July and suddenly an early winter
The Great Highway and all its claustrophobic supporters
Which subside again and eventually to
Our Great Mother
those who sink swim fast
San Francisco you small matted doll
You dual headed place of worship
feed me the sacrament then wash my face, hands, and feet
(Don’t leave 7th Ave!)
Through you I am the eye behind a small zoom lens
Through you, grenadine and green tea
Equal parts to absence in an old ceramic cup
On longing I wait
On Belonging I feel
San Francisco you deep, sequenced, inhalation