The Other Side of Eighteen

If you wanted to,
you could drive up for the weekend
and we could view New England
from the other side of eighteen.

You could aim your car through the
postcard perfection of your backwoods Vermont,
toward the place we used to call home
that no longer knows us by name.

I can see you skipping over state lines
like a giant game of hopscotch,
a yellow chalk star in one corner of Massachusetts
marked out with my name.

If you wanted to,
I could teach you how to dream again
and you could remind me
to keep believing in magic.

The truth is, you are my home -
you will always live inside my heart,
no matter how far away we get
from the fault lines of our childhood.

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