Love Letter Home
Minneapolis,
you feel like hot tea in the morning
calm, comfortable,
warm inside;
like falling in love anew
each time we wake up next to each other
each time we kiss.
Minneapolis,
I bet you taste like cinnamon in cocoa
at the winter solstice,
and mint ice cream
on my mom’s summer birthday,
or my third beer
on my dad’s pontoon.
Minneapolis,
I know how you sound.
The left channel hosts the loon’s call
and the quiet lap of lake waves,
while the right channel is harsher,
featuring a booted foot crushing down
through the hardened top of snow.
Minneapolis,
you are aromatic too –
a deep breath of morning mist,
in the woods by the lake
is something like therapy,
making up for the months
when frozen snot makes it hard to smell.
Minneapolis,
you look like shit today,
but I really don’t mind.
I like that you don’t try too hard,
I like that you let us see you
as you are
when you first wake up.
Minneapolis,
I have felt your embrace with all my senses.
Sometimes it hurts, honestly,
but through your temperaments
I always seem to want another hug
or another afternoon conversation
about the weather.
But Minneapolis,
let’s not pretend
that you’re not a mystery to me.
You’re far away and I never call,
we’re both busy,
we’re leading separate lives –
I’ve grown up and cut my hair.
Still, Minneapolis,
I miss you.
I forget you,
we all do sometimes.
Home may be defined as love
but also as the place
we most often take for granted.
