RETURNING

The place is a longing vessel, a grandfather house that we give fake tours in, mix eggs in coffee mugs, and other snacks. The kids throw grass into the sky and let the clumps rain dirt. There is always a dip in comfort, serotonin – because the place is of incarnation, and you and I and we are bodies just embodying. Leaves and snow, dead animals on the road, green Kmart long john. There will always be new things. Signs to tell you how. She will have her baby in June, you will be a great-grandmother. For the birthday there will be: cake and pie and ice cream. All piled on top of each other?
If I came back I would go to church, learn to sing, be a lighter martyr –
a stretcher – standing tall next to the cauldron and serving up
huge portions.