“We are
torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and
strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never
known.” – Carson McCullers
mom’s body
as a house
mom’s house
as a body
I want to
leave and come back
leave and
come back
leave and
come back
one thousand
times
but even
that
wouldn’t be
enough
my house is
my body and
my body is
my house and
I can’t bear
to be away
long enough
to get
anywhere I
want to go
in the
morning I stumble
down the
steps
past the
wisteria vine
which came back
to life after
5 years dead
the kind of miracle
we pray
and pray for
knowing full
well
we’ll never
get it
I’m in the
chicken coop
sloshing tea
on woodchips
smearing
poop
on my nightgown
as ten
chicks totter out
from beneath
their mom
her wings a
literal wall
her whole body
their house
meanwhile my
mother
is a powder in
a plastic bag
resting on a
chest of drawers
inside my
house
my mom’s
house as my house
my house as
my mom’s house
yellow now,
not blue,
mine now,
not hers
and then
there’s our bodies
my body wants to be
a house
with sturdy
wooden walls
a base to
leave from
and return
to
a place to
sleep deeper
than you’ve
ever slept
and to wake
up
Such a good one.
ReplyDeletei love this
ReplyDeleteDitto
ReplyDeletethanks everyone!
ReplyDelete