No Place Like Home

　　by Stephen Cushman

　　 My ocean's the one bad weather blows out to.

　　 To face the other， waves all driven

　　 by prevailing winds， I have to turn

　　 my back on my family. May they forgive

　　 this westward spree， my losing my head

　　 to ravens that ride the thermals in circles，

　　 to the shrub-covered bluffs of coastal scrub

　　 and chaparral， to coons in the avocado trees；

　　 may they not worry that I see signs

　　 warning Great White Shark Area，

　　 Rutting Elk May Be Aggressive，

　　 and Hazardous Surf， or that one night two

　　 quick earthquakes burped through the ground；

　　 and may they repeat， when I return

　　 slightly burned from the land of poppies，

　　 all the lessons they ever taught me

　　 about odination in the ordinary