Poem-a-day - April 12

Today's prompt: Write about a city

Rochester Hills

As we contemplate moving away,

the word turns in my heart.

The fingerprint of the place lies on me.

How much of me will be able to leave

this place called home for so long?

This little town where I have sewn

long threads? Nothing special

I've always thought. Until now.

The new has its allure,

which trumps my nostalgia most days.

But, today, I feel the echo

of long years quietly planted

one after the other after the other.

History takes a long time to make.

It is never unmade. Can I trust

that what has been will remain?

That to move is not to lose?