Saturday, January 21, 2012


Yesterday, someone asked me, "Where are you from?"

I always stop and think hard when someone asks me that question.  If you ask someone here, they'll more than likely to tell you the name of a place.  "I'm from Bell Rattle." they might say.  There are people who live here that have literally lived here all their lives. They don't have to think.

"I'm from here." they'll tell you.

But not me.

I have to think.

I don't have to think of where I feel  like I'm from.  It's not that. It's how to explain that after years and years and nice people too, I still don't say this is home.

My home or the closest that I've ever seen was washed away twice. Once when I was young in Camile and again in Katrina.

I keep telling myself that it's time to go back for a visit. Time to go back and see if my grand parent's house is still there. I want to go get a poboy and a Barqs at Pirate's Cove. I want to go eat it sitting on the seawall.

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I want to go home.

Who do you have to ask?  How do I explain? Please.


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