Away From Home

Away From Home

Elbows of ice poke

through the bottoms

of antique downspouts.

My eyes fill with tears

as I stare at winter’s work.

Squirrels chirp and scurry

at the trunk of a silver birch.

A drop stains the blotter

on the desk in my new room.

I

Miss my family

now, in the cold of what is outside, and in,

the new of now,

the crispness of unfamiliar clothes

drops of those tears

drop faster now

on the legs of mine

through my pants of uncomfortable blue.

I

get close enough to the window

feeling cold upon my face

squirrels play,

and I wish I were there

by the birch

in the grass

far from me, and the tears

on my desk.

I

catch my breath

but the tears fall fast

my first night

away from home

in a school on my own

in a room

near the squirrels

by the birch.

I

know now

comfort escapes

when growing is pain

simple looms large

that first cold day.

And I sat back down

in the chair by that desk

the tears were gone

and so were the squirrels.

My first day at the academy

alone.  Learn to fight.

Hayward 2006