To Vacate
by Wayne Lee

This is the casita where I lie alone,
where I cannot sleep for the thunder
of waves in the night. This is the beach
on which I cannot swim for the danger
of breakers and threat of undertow.
This is the country I love for the sun
and sea, the palm trees and bougainvillea,
the salsa, mangos and fresh ocean fish–
but where I do not, where I cannot, live.

Vacation carries in its DNA the root
to vacate, but not to inhabit. It’s lovely
to visit this exotic locale, it says, but
it is not home. And though the minifridge
is still stocked with smoked yellowtail,
cold beer and ripe papaya, my snowbound
homeland calls to me like a lover waiting
under the covers, saying come back to bed,
my sweet. I know your shape, I know your
name, I’ll keep you warm.