It's been on my mind lately

From Ian Wedde's The Commonplace Odes

To my sons

Home's where you're always going, it's the place you've just
Left, where your father takes all the photographs
In the unfinished dwelling of the tribe. Tomorrow when it rains
He'll fix the roof, dinner's over and music
Still follows you into the street as night falls

Across the face of the brooding, neighbourhood hillside.
Hair falls across the faces of young
Musicians. They're dancing, their paws are running and running
In the dream chase, their hearts are broken and they cross
The world for love and then they come home

Again, these flaneurs &endash; they have eaten the meats of strange
Lands and heard the call to prayer startle
Doves from the battlements of seaside resorts where the gasoline
Was cheaper than at home. They've been where bear hunters
In the cold mountains make toys in the off-season.

They bring the toys back for us to look at.
There's a painted doll that fits inside another,
And so on, until the story disappears. The tall
Stories of the tall boys. They come back
Like their great-great-grandfathers before them, lacquer-

Ware in their seachest, blue plates with unicorns
On the back, postcards of copulating gods,
T-shirts in languages not yet spoken,
An amulet, a faraway look. It's great to be home
Again, say our wandering sons, as they wave goodbye.



[Tricia's musings: I think about our folks taking the news that we'd be somewhere in the Pacific for approximately 9 months and marvel. Will Matty and I be so gracious when it's Wyatt's turn? I would not have traded 1998 for anything: Hong Kong, Thailand, Laos, Pakistan, Kashgar, Peninsular Malaysia, Borneo, New Zealand, Australia, Bishop. We were truly blessed with safe journeys and wonderful discoveries. We ate the meats of strange lands and heard the calls to prayer that startled, indeed, and we shared a bit with our folks. All that wandering marked us and in a good way.]