Built a House Across the Ocean

Everyone inside has gone to sleep.
I'm standing in the driveway.

I built a house across the ocean.

Eleven-forty, engine ticking cool,
sprinklers whispering on the lawn I paid for.
Two degrees framed in the hallway,
two cars asleep behind one door.
The bills are paid. The kids are thriving.
The work means something. This is true.
So why am I out here most evenings,
facing east with nothing to do?
The porch light of a house in Harare
is still wired somewhere in my chest.

I almost hide it.
I almost call it fine.
But the truth has footsteps —
it finds me at the kitchen door.

I built a house across the ocean.
(that is the truth I know)
Part of me lives past the harbor lights —
I built it wide, and I left a door.

Mm-mm, let it ring.
(one more breath, one more road)

My children speak with beautiful new accents.
My oldest friend stopped calling back.
The street I grew on has a new name now —
home is becoming a photograph.
I caught myself last Sunday morning
translating my own mother's voice,
and something in the kitchen went quiet
that had nothing to do with noise.

I almost hide it.
I almost call it fine.
But the truth has footsteps —
it finds me at the kitchen door.

I built a house across the ocean.
(that is the truth I know)
Part of me lives past the harbor lights —
I built it wide, and I left a door.

Truth is, missing home is no failure.
It's the receipt for what I loved.
I'm done choosing between my countries —
I will carry both, like hands.
One holds the driveway. One holds the dust road.
A man can be a bridge.

Mm. (keep going)
Mm. (hold it steady)
One more breath before morning.
(I built a house)

I built a house across the ocean.

I built a house across the ocean.

I built a house across the ocean.
(that is the truth I know)
Both of my countries under this roof —
I built it wide, and I kept the door.

Everyone inside is still sleeping.
I'm coming in now.

I built a house across the ocean.