As I look at Lock Haven outside my window,
I stare at the mountain covered in the beautiful
changing trees of fall
as vibrant as the sky at dusk.
So many shades of auburn and golden yellow
blowing across the streets.
This book about powerful
professional poets rains on my mood,
all of the stories I read are as bleak
as my eggshell colored walls.
Much like the housework I’m avoiding,
I keep finding other things to do instead of read.
I can’t help but lose myself
in thought as I sit here.
Why am I in the middle of Pennsylvania?
Why am I in a town
where the cornfields and
trees are as tall as
and there’s a church with ringing bells
around every corner?
Why am I in the mountains
where it snows so much
you feel like you’re at the North Pole?
The wind whips across your face.
It stings like a jelly fish
touching your bare skin,
and there’s nowhere to escape the cold.
Where you can wear seven layers of clothes
just to walk to class and still freeze
by the time you arrive.
I could have ended up anywhere on the globe,
like sunny California where it never snows,
or the busy streets of New York
where there are real skyscrapers,
somewhere where there are rooftop parties,
or big extravagant events like movie
premieres and celebrity meet ups to attend,
or even a beach to get away from all the stresses of life.
But alas my heart chose tiny
little Lock Haven,
where you can go to Texas
and still be back to finish your readings,
which I still have to do.