More river than ocean.
Not so much Tesla as diesel.
It’s more dirt and resilience
than computers and rain.
It’s a little like
the B-side cut on a 45,
not sounding much like the band
you know at all.
But like a fraternal twin,
you can see the resemblance
in certain light. And it is light—
named for the “Children of the Sun.”
It’s the birthplace of Father’s Day, 1910,
by a woman named Sonora Dodd.
And me.
Which now feels
like a prophecy
of where I am meant to be
as I write this poem,
from the Sonoran Desert,
in the Valley of the Sun,
just before Father’s Day.
It’s true what they say—
you can leave places,
but your heart never leaves home.
© 2026 Jennifer Wagner
Note: My birthplace, Spokane, WA, is on the “other side” of Washington state and is very different from rainy Seattle. Where I now live in Arizona suits me like a midsummer day.
