Discovering a Poet

How I’m escaping my own sh*thole country

The mother in the poem compares her prodigal son to a kid goat, unsteady on his legs, just learning to walk. Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

I have a friend I only see on occasion. She is a younger woman with a 10-year-old child. I’m a grandmother of two. You wouldn’t think we’d have a lot in common. But we resonate whenever we find ourselves together, which is usually once a year at a community camp in the Mendocino Woodlands.