rodeo gusts (part one)

Back to the town that
Dries out my skin;
Alligator in beat-up plimsolls
Not bothering to stalk down the cracked sidewalks that gave me tough love back in the day.

Back to the town that
Sucks out my breath
If I should bother to turn towards the wind
Just to get the hair out of my face.

Back to the town whose
Streets will reluctantly unfold for me,
Where I need no detailed directions to get anywhere--
I simply lay my wheeled feet into the tracks built in on the street sides and let them roll me there.

Back to the town that
Houses my old so-and-so building,
My sanctuary housed in brick and bad floors.

Back to the town who
Holds all the stories
Of the biggest turning points in my life thus far.

Back to the town where
My father lives. He is the most important reason to visit anymore.

Back to the town where
Most of the most
Important teachers
Of my life
Do their thing:
Knocking people down,
Helping people tear themselves apart,
And helping people put the pieces back together. Demolition specialists, surgeons, and artists.

Back to the town of memories
That grow on the very trees on campus;
Where the stories live in every blade of grass on the lawns,
And in every dried-up pine needle that scitters across the parking lots in the ever-present winds.

Back to this town--
I'm telling myself that it's a visit for my father,
And a visit to those that I may not see again for a very long time, at least.

But I'll be honest--as much as I miss it,
I'm not going back again
Unless it's absolutely necessary.

-Dana Winter