the first time i saw the pacific ocean

nd on the last sunday in august
i could even feel the gusts of the nearing autumn chicago wind in the middle of the desert
as if the whistles of the ancestors coincided with the wind
humming a tune that swifted me on my feet and painted the colors of home in my dreams

because at the noon of the day i felt angrier than ever before
and it was because of the sun
as if i had lost my lessons of patience and kindness
as if i were disconnected from everything that i was
i needed to be reminded of home, and no by home i didnt mean
my little corner on the southside of chicago
i meant her.
my heart raced
and my face glistened and gleamed of joy like a kid in a candy store
they called me home
and i remembered i was here
they called me home and i remembered that i came
and there they were waiting for me
as if my soul and my first world body had met each other over arrangements of tea and scones
as if now i could press play