I finished my dance, and held my pose for a full 10 count. With a fluid reverse swirl, I folded down into a closed lotus, and waited. I had done all I could; I left it all on the stage.

I had been an understudy in New York for almost two years, and had only danced under the lights four times. I had the talent, and I knew it was time to make my move.

I spent most of my savings on the airfare to get to Las Vegas, and it had taken me two performance tryouts to earn the right to audition today. I had performed my heart out, and my fate was now in the hands of the production manager.

The slow single applause grew in speed, and when it was joined in by the rest of the crew, I knew; still, I waited quietly for the words to be said.

“Welcome to the Cirque du Soleil. You start with Zumanity next week.”

The tears that I cried were real, and so was my new career.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

‘Welcome Back Home’ exclaims the sign that hangs above the door.

The house sits darkly mocking me, as I stand in the street.

Twelve years at least, since I was here; it feels like it’s been more;

I feel the old familiar rage begin to build, so sweet.

The house sits blindly brooding here, amid the cracked concrete.

“No, there there can be no sign up there,” I tell myself once more.

“There’s no one left afar or near, for this foul meet and greet.”

‘Welcome Back Home’ exclaims the sign that hangs above the door.

The doctors warned me not to come; I guess they knew the score.

I try to move, but just stand here–I’m frozen on my feet.

I hear incessant laughter now, and know I must explore;

The house sits darkly mocking me, as I stand in the street.

I tread the path with forceful steps; there will be no retreat!

My fingers tremble shakily, but still reach for the door.

It opens wide as if to say “Come! Get a bite to eat!”

Twelve years at least, since I was here; it feels like it’s been more.

Stepping through the portal, I am rocked right to my core;

The door slams shut behind me and I feel desirous heat.

Now from the walls the voices start, and hate begins to pour.

I feel the old familiar rage begin to build, so sweet.

As memories of death return, I start to feel complete.

I’ve spent twelve years forgetting–now I must recall once more.

The memories of blood and pain bring smiling, raw conceit;

I know now why it waited. Ah! The house need wait no more...

‘Welcome Back Home’

a rondeau redoublé in iambic heptameter

(c) 2017 dustygrein

Dear Tumbleweed without Roots,

Thank you.

What? Not the book to the back of your head you expected for your selfishness? True, you probably deserve exactly that, but I won't be the one to give you what you deserve. I'm better than that—and I've grown. You see, while you were away I learned a few things.

For that, I thank you.

You found me at my worst: desperate, heartbroken, and terrified. I thank you for taking my hand, as you led me through my darkest time. Scars of battles fought and won, had left me unable to trust, but you broke through that wall. 

For teaching me to trust again, I thank you.

Night after night, you talked to me. You actually listened, which was the craziest part. I’d never been truly heard by a man before.

For teaching me that my thoughts are valuable, I thank you.

As you helped me find my strength to focus and endure through the battle I faced, I came to rely on you. I felt like I needed you to push me, and you did--even beyond what I thought myself capable of doing. You showed me the power of my determination.

For teaching me to ignore the boundaries, I thank you.

When you left, at first I thought my world was crashing in around me because… Well, you were my world.

I lost focus.

I believed I needed you in order to be strong, and I forgot how to be me without you. I wanted to rely on you the way I became accustomed to. The truth is, that first week really sucked. I probably didn't do anything except spill a few coffee cups and tear-stain my favorite pillow.

But not now.

Now, I don't need to check when I see the green light blink on my phone. I know it isn't you.

Now, I don't have to rush to share the latest hilarious thing the kids just did, because I know you aren't there to listen.

Now, I don't feel the need to tell you that I'm going to the store, because you aren't there to notice when I'm gone.

Now, I don't wake up expecting a “good morning” message, because I know it won't be there.

You finally taught me how to no longer miss you—to no longer need you. I know who I am now, without you.

For that, I thank you.

Nostalgically no longer yours,

The Roots from Home.