It's just poetry, it won't bite

None of Us Are Natives


01.30.13 Posted in today's words by

Daniel Dowe’s most recent poem to appear here was The Windy Artist (December 2012).

None of Us Are Natives

By Daniel Dowe

None of us are natives,
No matter where we live,
Or get ourselves born.
We’re all visitors,
Day tourists off the cruise ship,
School kids on a field trip,
Seniors from the coach tour.

I may profess to some special status,
Since I learned to walk and talk
Close to this house I live in,
Not far from where I now sleep.
But one look overhead,
On a night where dark skies
Let clouds move fast across,

And I know that nothing stays fixed.
Even home can be whisked away
Like blowing November leaves,
Who once called one tree dearest definite
And now move at the whims
Of Fortune and nomadic breezes,
Blown far away from the site of original sins.




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