Joyce Chelmo

There’s No Going Home - Poem by Joyce Chelmo

Grew up barefoot & feral
on the banks of
the lazy Shagawa river,
in an old lumber ghost town.
They say it was a booming
city in the early 1900's.

There’s still a small lumber mill
on the far edge of town,
but no more logs float
down the old Shagawa.
The rails have been abandoned
since I can remember.

Returned two years ago
to find houses disintegrating
under disrepair & abandon.
Even the little
gray sided Post Office
with window boxes,
closed two years ago.

Winton Liquor-Store
hasn’t changed in twenty years.
The house I grew up in
now under new ownership,
with cracked yellow siding
& my dad’s garage
failing at the foundation.

Memories of my beautiful home
& my dad made my eyes sting.

That sturdy Northern-Pine
still stood tall in front
of my bedroom window.
The only sound,
gravel under my feet as I walked
down familiar streets.

Mr’s Machiener,
(the former mercantile owner)
fat & old as dirt,
sat on her front stoop
waving at me as if I’d never left.

But there’s no going home again.

Comments about There’s No Going Home by Joyce Chelmo

  • (4/25/2006 1:37:00 PM)

    A well-drawn scene, Joyce. I feel the poem would have greater impact if it had more similes in particular. I hope you don't mind me saying so.
    Best wishes,
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  • Brian Dorn (4/25/2006 12:14:00 PM)

    Joyce, excellent write... great visuals with a fitting end! Funny how the liquor store hasn't changed...
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 25, 2006

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