Patchwork Quilt of Place
I am taken back to home.
Western Kansas fields struggling to grow
The fruits of man.
Scorched, exposed earth
And circles of irrigation.
There is conflict here.
Something is out of place here.
Laid on top of the other
Gaining ground here and losing ground there.
How was I out of place at home?
Fragmented identity struggling to belong
To this place.
Part of me discarded to take on the piece of another.
I decided to use this poem as the first entry for my blog. I chose this because I think it gives you a sense of who I might be. I did grow up in a small town in central Kansas. When I think about who I am as a person, I realize this geography has had a profound influence on me. To this day, I still have the dust of those dry fields on my skin.
Growing up there was idyllic. Life was simple to understand. You went to school and tried your best, because that is what was expected of you. You played outside until dinner, and then played outside until the streetlights came on. You explored pastures and deserted buildings. Kicked around in dry creek beds and made rafts for summer rain-swollen rivers. What held me (us) together was this fabric of certainty. You established your place in town by your family name, your friends in the neighborhood and at school, and what you did with your life. Nobody really cared much about it except those that really cared about you.
The imperfection in this perfect place, the rip in the seams, came to the forefront when I attempted to leave it. The pattern of my quilt did not match that of the “real” world. In fact, it was so drastically different that I lost all sense of recognition. I became lost in the world. The foundation I had built my identity on was fragile and worn by time. I was a grown man clinging to a blanky.
Eventually, as most young people do, I found myself and grew from the experiences. Now that I have left that place, and have been gone for almost as long as I was there, I see this place as a strength. It is not just a place, a house. It is a home that gives me perspective and guidance. And while the rips are still there--poverty, alcoholism, domestic abuse—and the idea of it being utopian is fantastical, the fields still produce and I reap the harvest.
