Clench your jaw and turn the knob—
Open your eyes, I say, and snap your fingers
to the beat of the train, to the rhythm of its tracks.
Turn around and stand upright—
Take a step closer,
Darling, and look at their faces,
at all that love pouring from their eyes,
unconditionally, indiscriminately.
Wipe your brow and fix your hair—
Bend over, I say, and till the soil,
to make way for the new crops in your field;
there will be more than you can fathom.
Turn around now! Stand tall!
Feel the sun’s glow! Feel its generous warmth melt your skin!
There’s no better way to finish than with a deep breath and a sigh!
But where is your home, Darling? Where is your home?
Is it in your heart,
or is it in your room?
Is it where you rest your head each night,
in some land you’ve never been to,
or in the eyes of a stranger you’ve just met?
Where is your home when you’re alone in your kitchen
heating oil and preparing meals—
sizzle, crack—
the sound that brings you back
to the place you were born,
to the people you loved.
Now, slowly, stretch your arms and clear your throat—
Open your senses, I say, and inhale the air,
that of sweet potato and olive oil wafting from your home.
Open the cupboard and fill your plate—
Take off your shoes, I whisper, and close all the shutters
so you can rest your feet and sink into the couch.
Keep steady now, and don’t falter—
Open your eyes, I say, and do it all again,
until every one of your crops grows,
until they’ve become as high as they can reach,
until they bear as much fruit as they can carry—
Until the Earth’s water runs out and the Sun ceases to shine,
for only then will their growth be futile.
But you, Darling, have another thing coming for you—
So close your eyes, drift to sleep,
have sweet dreams, and wake up with peace.
When you awaken, it will all come true—
Darling, I just know it will.
Back at Home
When writing "Back at Home," I was imagining how daily routine can feel both monotonous and deeply satisfying. The poem uses the backdrop of a farm to convey global growth and a sense of hard work and reward. I think the growth of vegetation is growth in its purest form, so using crops and farm imagery felt like a very natural way to also express personal growth. I then wanted to explore what it means to “come home” and to question if home is physical space, a daily reclamation, a mental schema, or something in between. To do this, I made narrator the "Authority Home Figure” directly address the “Navigator.” The Home Figure confers security through specific instruction and experiential wisdom while the Navigator is finding what home means to them.
I wrote "P.S. I'm leaving" after "Back at Home" because I liked where "Back at Home" was going but didn't feel it needed any additions. "P.S. I'm leaving" is still written in 3rd person, but the narrator is now the Navigator talking to themselves. Defining home and navigating the general uncertainty of the future for the Navigator is also a journey of confronting their preconceived ideas of home and stability. Despite episodes of self-doubt and fear, they remember what the Authority Figure said before they embarked on their journey—to "clench your jaw and turn the knob." This phrase becomes a token for the Navigator to remember that the lessons they learned along the way to their future are still here to help, and they can step into their future in the company of those who support them.
Bio: Josiah Goga (he/him) is a first-year medical student at UMMS originally from Ann Arbor, MI. He is interested in writing about personal growth, spirituality, and lived experiences of the LGBTQ community.
Do I think wider, or do I delve deeper?
You ask, as you take your first moment of many
when your past becomes your present
behind the blacks of your eyelids.
Where do they keep coming from?
You wonder, because you cannot see them—
but you feel them,
in your sleep, in your car,
with bated breath and a tightening chest.
But what if I’m missing something?
You worry, seeing nothing
but feeling everything.
What if it’s not perfect?
You consider,
because it was never anything but.
How can change happen
within change
within change?
What if it’s just okay?
You realize.
This is big.
You say.
So you clench your jaw and turn the knob
and walk up the hill and across the river
to walk the path that was paved for you, through a string connecting you,
toward a light made for you,
with the people destined for you,
at the time meant for you,
eyes wide, heart open,
full of trust, and rich with love.