Join Me
Janet Kuypers
3/7/19 (written for the closing date for her Austin home)
Not unlike an uprooted plant,
my leaves have been wilting
since I’ve been extracted
from my only home, and then
transplanted over a thousand
miles away. The land’s parched,
like my now exposed roots
which are writhing, searching
for nourishment once again.
Everyone tells me to relax here,
get comfortable, like they know
that this is where I’m now
forced to stay, because they
know that now I have no choice.
So I do what I’m told, just like
a good little girl is supposed
to do, and I search for a place
where I, for once, can call my own.
And what I’ve found is just
the bare bones, but nothing
is a home until I make my mark
and pour my soul into these
rooms and make a house
a home. But I’m here, things
are only starting to fall into place...
but now that I’m here, I was
wondering if you could join me.
Maybe I’ll set up a table, and
find some silverware from boxes
that still need to be unpacked.
There’s no working electricity,
so maybe we can light some
candles and celebrate in the
dark with champagne. Who knows,
maybe a stray cat will come
to the windows to check us out...
because I’ve been uprooted,
you see, and I’ve been looking
for a place I could call my own.
Let’s step outside — because
even now more stars are looking
out for me, and my favorite
hunter is right outside when I
step outside my own front door,
maybe gaining strength from me
as I gained strength from him.
Since I have been uprooted
I have needed that strength
I find in the night sky, the
one constant thing in my
now uprooted life. So please,
my roots are searching for
water, my veins now squirm
trying to find a new home.
So I will ask you nicely, I’ll
stand on my tippy-toes and
raise the pitch of my voice
like I do whenever I ask for
something. Please. Join me.
I’m searching for a place
to call my own, I’m searching
for a place I can make my
home. I’m all alone here.
So please. Join me.
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