Mine now

Upon my return home from New Orleans
I scanned through Google results
To find the poem
That best described the
Wild, hungry, trumpet echo
Left in me

The same way you like to look at
Pictures of far away buildings you once touched
(Like the time you went the Louvre)
As if to say
That is partly mine now
Because I have seen it with my own eyes

In the same way
I desperately scan through
Jazz poems
Slave poems
Funereal poems
Searching for something I recognize
So that I can selfishly say
That is partly mine
Because I have felt it

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