Mother, I am homesick.
How soon until I am southbound; homebound
a wild goose with winter on her heels

We always knew I would migrate North first,
following the curve of the Earth
climbing a ladder of red-ink latitudes up into the snow
towards skies that reflected the city streets
and streets that were mirrors themselves

Let Christmas find me sleeping
under winter-weary eaves, dreaming of lights;
of constellations mapping a new trajectory
for a girl again in love with her
wanderlust