Missing James

nothing here is like the
well worn
footpaths at home with
bikers
joggers
walkers
families and dogs
and a fickle river that decides day to
day
if it is a place for quiet
slow tubing
or if tonight is a night
where we will hear the riverboats from our porch
mixed in with the train sounds and
chirping birds
while the house a few over has a
barbecue feast and the church parking lot overflows with food trucks
and a movie.
nothing here feels the same.
the creeks don’t spill over with my childhood
fairy princess dreams
and my name isn’t carved into that
one
too tall tree and if i venture too far away from the path i
might get
lost.
its cleaner here without the many people
and the stairwells of
graffitti but
i feel lost without my
muddy brown
dog by my side and high school students
smoking on
the river rocks with forties in their fists and kids swirling
over rapids with
their elbows protecting their soft
skulls.

 

Richmond, VA