There’s good and bad almost everywhere 
Almost everywhere, but we’re not trained–
not trained–to see it. Dichotomies are easy,
as in easy-does-it, because they give us an out.
Out meaning separate. Something to no. 
No, I believe in a plethora of yesses.

Yes to the book of poems by Jim Wayne Miller
and yes to the grist mill in my hometown.
Yes to my hometown, even though I didn’t 
stay. Yes to the creek. Yes to the patches,
to the till, to the little stone house they built
from field rock.

My elderly cousin was a poet,
lived close to the family cemetery,
had a brass family tree with names and plates.
She showed me home in her verses, pointed
my branch on the tree. Said, this
is where you are. This is where I am. This, we.