Because I am no longer at home in New Jersey,
Because I was never at home in California,
I return to the place where I was born.
A sign hung hopefully at the naval base entrance says,
"Welcome Home."
I spend the day in the shops touching things,
Books, fabrics, glass,
Hoping for something familiar.
I watch the people, see if any catch my eye, smile, or wave.
Walk the streets hoping for a smell or sound to remind me.
What about the windmill?
It swallowed me casually
In its gigantic shadow.
This is foreign country.
My parents already on their way out
When I showed up, a dumb baby.
The only history there belongs to them.
By day's end I would be turned back over to the world
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