Buffalo, NY

My home is real.
Where I was born so much sums up human experience
Trials, triumphs, banding-together, closeness.
I arrived home and got socked with terrible news
More shocking than anything
And at the same time
I receive loving support for two days straight
From those around me I never really knew that well.
I come to find out
That the terrible news, while necessary,
Will get sorted out
Because it comes from love.
(Everyone is alive, kicking, and breathing. not to worry)

My home is real.
Nothing in this world is as bright or as concrete or as perfect
As we think it will be
And my home is never really great
Never really bad
It's just good. Very good.

I want to hug my parents both
Separately, equally
And my sisters
Their love is so strong, so moving
And so careful.
My mother compels me to live well
By her actions.
My father sees something in me
That I don't think he saw before
And I have the man's respect.
He told me he thinks I work harder than he does
He never, ever, for an instant minces words.
My sister, despite her rush to anger or judge
Has the sharpest intellect, and a huge heart
And is married to her Great Leveler,
Someone I see who gives balance to her life.

Even my dogs are real.
They still jump, bark too much, and smell when they get wet.
But they take part in the household just like me
They share the leaps, the fun, the ball-throwings
That I used to do when I was so young

My bed upstairs is real.
I slept in the TV room upstairs
And I never sleep as well as I do on that bed
To another person, my bed in Brooklyn
Would seem light years more comfortable
The Buffalo Bed is literally stiff and creeky,
And you can feel the pockets of springs
But the blankets are always so soft
The pillows the perfects fluff-t0-stiffness ratio
And they always smell like "good".
I sleep like a stone, very deeply
Despite the cold

My life is real.
I enter March with a large plate in front of me
The High Holy Day on the 17th
And all the Stories to tell
My next album, which must be my life's greatest work,
Now almost a week away from beginning.
I am twinged with guilt, heartache, and sobering sadness
Over the way others have treated me
And the way I see me going round-and-round again
And my life is so real
That in all that
Transcending that
No, fueling that
Is the love from those around me
Mom
Dad
Elicia
Joe
Lynn
Aunt Lisa
Uncle Chris
Aunt Linda
et cetera
Who make a point to affirm their steadfast support
"I'm so proud of you, John Michael."
Yet my work has just begun

I find myself crying these past few weeks
And not because I am upset or sad
In the least.
The love from my family moves me to tears
And I am learning to shake the initial guilt
That I throw on
And embrace it
So the tears are an outward physical sign
Of my soul going through the mind
and into the body
And showing myself and my world
(My world is real)
That I am loved.

So throw your arms around your family for me
And for your own good
Find that real home
And real life
And let people move you.