The City Lights in Every Small Town

It’s
the slow growing grass
by the river,
the damp breeze of an incoming
thunder storm,
the smell of a Sunday morning;
everyone is home
and time isn’t hovering.

It’s
the risen dirt
from the now wet pavement,
the mindless chatter of a school day;
your little brother speaking.
The hustle of the day-to-day
the struggle to breathe.

It is
it was
both;
home.

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