23 years of searching and home is right back where i started, in a city i never knew with intimacy, seeing her once a year in the blistering heat of december, a blur of visiting as many family members as possible before flying home

her stobie poles and carefully laid out core and bright beaches stretching along the bight
sandstone cottage solitary in a field, rippling green of ripening vines
blue blue blue sky kissing the horizon of dirt

when i thought of running, i never thought of coming back because that’s not really an escape is it?
it’s retreating. do you still call it a retreat if your old roots are trampled and long forgotten?
do you still call it coming back if your memories of these streets are faded from years in the darkened corners of your mind?

my daydreams are full of you. really you should have figured this out by now, should have seen the pieces laid out at your feet.
my heart has always strained against my ribcage and i tried shoving it back rather than setting it free.

out of everyone you understand it best, trying to bend a city around you and convincing it to fit. like clothes at an op shop, telling yourself “this is good for me, this is good.”
i don’t have to tell you how it feels to drive away for the last time knowing you’ll never again think of home when seeing that skyline.
curse breaking, blood letting.

in the solitude of midnight and the gaps between messages, i dream about you seeing this city for the first time.
your hand in mine as we wander, trailing behind through my shortcuts showing off the big and little landmarks — there is the church my parents got married, here is the crossing i walked barefoot in the middle of summer because my shoes broke ten meters away.

will the sight of cockatoos foraging in the parklands make your heart leap as it does mine?

will you understand the catharsis of standing in the ocean, your pants rolled up to your knees, wine-dark water in summer dusk washing away what made you believe you were unloveable?

will you walk these brick cobbled sidewalks with lightness, with a heart bleeding and aching for relief, alive with terror and glory? will you remember that there’s always sunshine somewhere?

can you find where i’m waiting at the bus stop, in the vines, by the water’s edge, ready to greet you with a smile easy as breathing? can you wrap your arm around mine and make a stupid joke just so i roll my eyes?

will you see it?
not in the exact same way that i do, not without the history behind each building and road, but will you understand? will it begin to make sense to you?
i couldn’t explain myself any better if i tried. it’s all here before you, it’s in the trees and the bird calls and the red dirt and that blue sky.

when you’re ready, i’ll meet you there.