Olive Tree Bed

Trudging through leftover scraps

of slushed snow

Dreading an overdue reading

of the Odyssey

Twenty-four detailed poems

Combined in one

I feel that maybe I was guided

To make me change

I wonder curiously

Can my time here be an Odyssey

Seven months feels like twenty years

Held back drug both ways

Day and night

I contemplate

often speaking out loud

But not tonight

Tonight I long for home

My real home that is

That one

The one with

My olive tree bed