Poem: Homesick

People don’t often talk about reverse culture shock. But it’s been on my mind for the past several months. Since moving back to the United States from Europe, I’m still learning how to readjust. If I’m completely honest, my first impression of coming back was mostly negative for various reasons.

First off, many of the buildings in the US are just plain ugly, especially compared to the Bavarian-style structures I’m used to seeing everyday. Sorry, not sorry, America.

Then there’s the over friendliness. If I’m going out grocery shopping, people want to talk to me for some reason. I just want my apples, so please, please leave me alone. One stranger even tried to offer me a job when I just wanted to go through the checkout line, and I actually enjoy my current job, thank you very much. (Leave me alone!) I miss the blunt, honest fashion in Germany where people mind their own business.

I am learning to adjust though. I like my house, and I’m super excited that I can do whatever I want to the garden come spring! It’s a huge garden. And did I mention my job is awesome? The other day, I had a kid fold me a little paper crane, and it was the sweetest thing.

Enjoy my poems from 2019? Be sure to vote for your favorites here or comment below! Categories include your favorite, best imagery, and most heartfelt.

Update (14 Jan. 2020): Vote for my poem "When I was Little" on Little Infinite.

Homesick

Is it possible to get homesick

for a place I’ve never been?

To hear the hollow echo in the pit of my heart

as the revelation settles in,

covering my arteries like a coating of dust

speck by speck

—this realization that I’ve never truly belonged.

I miss the way the forests reclaimed the city,

and even though there was still smog,

I could bike to work through the woods.

I don’t like how now I look out the window

in this sticky refrigerated restaurant

and see a boxy convenient store, a cemetery, a street.

Is this what they call a view?

I laid in the grass beneath the blanket of sunshine

to escape the throngs of people

yet a lady still found me,

and asked me how I was.

Why are the people so nice here?

What do they want from me?

Ask me where I’m from one more time,

and I just might tell you—

I don’t know.

I don’t know anymore.

***

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? Have you ever experienced culture shock or reverse culture shock? What was your favorite poem of mine from 2019?

Similar poems: Origins (Audio); Haiku Collection: Down South (Audio); and Thoughts of Place (Audio)

Poem: In Season

In the 21-century, most of us live in a world where we are privileged in one way or another. A couple weekends ago, I went on a ski trip with my dad and marveled at how much fruit there was for breakfast in the middle of the winter. I was also in the middle of reading Inkdeath, which takes place in the Inkworld during winter. So the book prompted me to compare my circumstances with those of the characters. The differences between our century and those of the middle ages is astounding.

Of course, I read medieval fiction and fantasy stories all the time, so you would think I would have thought of these things already. But there’s just so much to take in. I wondered, how much of our present technology is really necessary? And what is privilege really?

This poem is just an exploration of technology and privilege and how it differs from country to country.

In Season

Apples are always in season

in this, the first world,

where we know everything.

Crank up the thermostat,

and you can feel the heat soaking into your skin

like the summer sun, harnessed with a metal bit;

or turn up the AC, and relish the nip of winter,

like an albino housecat ready to sprint

at the crack of the door.

Raspberries are only always in season

if you’re willing to ship them across the globe,

like little red slaves to sate our appetite for fruit

in a world where we think we know everything.

But some slip on a sweater,

and northerners laugh at your shivers

while they stride about the snow in shorts;

and Europe—sweet Europe—laughs at the thought of AC,

for summer, like a fickle butterfly flirting with one flower then the next,

only sticks around for two weeks.

***

Similar Posts: Weird Winter Weather and Some Notes on the Three Days of Summer

What are some of the privileges you take advantage of? If you've ever traveled to another country, what are some of the major differences you've noticed, aside from language?