FLYING INTO SUMMER

"We'll be flying into Summer,"
I said, in that cold
San Francisco January.
We left with two
full suitcases and
Herman in a carrier.
*
Landed,
the unaccustomed
sounds of Rioplatense
Spanish caused hiccups
in my brain.
Herman, in his
cat carrier,
was fine.
*
In the half-furnished,
brick house,
Herman explored
everything,
then curled up
and went to sleep.
He was home.
*
Now I talk
like them.
I'm rooted in
the soil
of Uruguay.
I don't fly
into other
seasons.
Like Herman,
I'm home.

May 21 2015