Fog

What happened to my homeland? It seemed so clear yesterday.
It seemed so eternal. It seemed so mine. Where is my homeland? It must be here, somewhere.
The art of losing isn't hard to master, I'm told. My homeland, my native soil is dimmer and dimmer. The maze of memory dead ends for you for now, my country of origin.
Where is Able Hall and Air Park's gossamer twilight, oh nation of mine?
Those landscapes and portraits that once belonged to me in such vibrant colors and compelling hues. First they turn sepia, then grey before fading to black. My sweet, sweet homeland.
I left you on such natural terms. We'd seen so much. You're five dollar packs of cigarettes and one dollar coffees couldn't keep me for long. A year of aimless degree went so fast, my homeland. And then I knew I had to go.

I had a friend named Levi. He hung around the gas station. A good guy and a quiet guy. He liked car. No shame in that. He joined the marines, to defend my homeland, where is he now? I had a friend named Travis who I called Lurch. He went off to Boston, is he still there, my homeland? You have a new President soon, my homeland, how will you handle this change, can I believe in you now, my homeland?

I left you behind weary and unpopular. Too powerful for your own good, I suppose. Wishing for something new, but perhaps to blindly. But I love you, my homeland. You'll always be beautiful to me and will always perform my duty to you. Do what you will.

I walked into the dining room for the hundredth, thousandths, millionth time. The restaurant I loved. The Mexican gentlemen carting carpet out the door. The faded, bunched up red and blue rolled up and hauled off. The dining room closed for the day as new paint and ceiling tiles took the place of the mirrored panels and yellowed skylight which stood there for twenty years without shame or repair. I didn't get to say good bye. My little pizza joint grew up. The time went too fast.

My homeland, my pizza you're on your own now, but you always were. I watched you change these years with only minimal impact. An impact none the less which I can take pride in.

"What will I come home to?" is the question hanging over 2009. Who will still be there? Where will the others go? Who will be in school? Who will drop out, vomit, smoke or die? As I sit halfway around the world I hope I did the right thing and I know I didn't do the wrong thing.