Swept up in the just-got-home errands
unpacking and dusting sand off my shoes
journal-writing and I-miss-you-madly
as beach drives through Malibu sits distantly
as if that were a different me, sitting
separately in time-space to the one
lying in bed, jetlagged desperately
until four pm – for of course in Los Angeles
for of course in my heart, it is eight
and I am lying in a bunk bed to face the day ahead
– to regain myself and strength when home
is a task – without money or purpose
but I am here, and I can only recover
by throwing myself into all that is good
about Brighton, my books, and my home
otherwise – I may find myself on a plane
to attend to all I am missing in California


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