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The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

I Long For Stars

All Beings Considered

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Cuba Libre

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

I Write This To Remember


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"You are one of ours,"
he said.
He wore a long grey coat,
a thick long beard.
I blinked. He winked.
"You are one of the hill folks
surely as the day you were born."
"Mayhap," I peeped. Mayhap?
where did that word come from?
I looked down at my tanned skin,
hands raw red from the chill in the air.
"We traveled forward through time to
find you."  I was lying in bed, and my
bed was perched on a boulder over a
seam of green Serpentine rock,
below lay a patchwork quilt of the
greens, golds and brown-bronzes of
Autumn. I was on a mountain top
and the grey sumptuous curls of
misting fog were rolling in to
obscure the view below.
"I can't be one of y'un," I said,
covering my mouth with my hand to
keep the foreign vocabulary from
seeping out.
"You are, Perchance, yes you are home."
The hills filled with an echo of hymns.
We were surrounded by a church choir. It was a greeting.
"There is a Balm in Gillead, is the place of your birth and kin.
We conjured you home so you could begin again,
so your soul could breathe and your heart be set free
to wander once more."
I asked him, "So is this what sacred means,
what sacred's for?"
He answered,
"Oh, yes, my child,  it is to be at home,
to be with your people."

Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World
Copyright June 4, 2013 All Rights Reserved By This Author.

Accounting of a dream of returning to my people in the Appalachians;
I hadn't realized I belonged there.

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