go-home-Roger

I’m learning to love
the way my name
sounds dripping from
foreign mouths.
I want someone to
look at me the way
I look out over the
mountains, touch me
like my hands glide
over the plants as I
walk, loving
as in a dream.
I want
soft kisses from small
lips, children with
hearts big enough to
fit the whole world,
and smiles the size
of the burning sun
when I speak to them
in their mother tongue.
I want
my chest to ache
with this much joy
every time I wake up.
I want
this, this, this.
I am beginning to think
I’m not traveling, but
already home.
—  Costa Rica by Auriel Haack