How can you describe
Swedish pancakes
— thin and folded in a square stack —
With lingenberries and maple syrup
To the uninitiated?
Sometimes when I’m home
I feel very Scandanavian
Like when all I eat and talk about is lefse
— a Norwegian potato bread, thin and heavenly–
I eat my Thanksgiving dinner wrapped up in it like a burrito
You won’t understand until you understand
It is dark here by four-thirty
With a wet cold that bites your cheeks
And I make a list my head:
Boots, flannel-lined jeans, vests, long underwear
And other necessities I’ll need
And other luxuries, like heated floors, that I’ll want
If I want to be home again
And I do
There are calculations here
Eight hours to Des Moines
Three hours to Madison and Milwaukee
An hour and change to the airport
And a mile down the road
And more
Like tallying ambitions
And bank accounts
And demographics
Pushing for answer
That demands maturation
I concede the point
And I’ll fly South to my beautiful, warm life
With half my heart in the North
Calling me back, soon
With Love,
Natalie