this week was the distance between east tennessee and northwestern north carolina.
in a community space where before people could gather there and talk about fighting fascism it was the beauty shop where i got my hair done for my senior prom and before that it was a cobbler shop, the distance is the corners of your mouth and how i am trying to explain that this isn't where i grew up, but it is, it's just different now.
in them hills again straddling the line between northwestern north carolina and east tennessee where my heart is at home, the distance is the other side of a padlocked gate and the mountain that built my backbone.
in the birdhouse where Alexa sings a memory about that house on the hill back in north carolina, the distance is a pinata full of strawberitas and a warm glow.
in a community meeting where folks are getting excited about community-owned internet, the distance is a fiber-optic cable and an organizing family that feels like home.
in the driveway of the house my family lives in where i receive the news that Vickie has died, the distance is how she told us not to mourn and how a heart aches.
in the kitchen with Heron and Alder where we make blueberry pancakes as the sun creeps over the hills, the distance is a longbird and a joybird and how a heart expands.