I remember when

Time swallowed the days

Like water

Indifferent Wednesday

Afternoons on

A quick car ride back

Home. Yes, home.

Uncertain of how

Things became this way

And how things will

Probably end up

(fucked up, of course).

The quiet streets bring

Back a rush

Of memories and scenes

Portraying a beautiful

Yet dismal childhood.

Remembering insistent

Perplexities of the hows

And whys of an

Eight year-olds life

Stopping at nothing

To stay up just a little

Bit later.

Travesty made by

The same fence that stood

From the day I first

Stepped foot home

The same numbers

Indicating residence in

This sullen (for me it was)

Town (two five seven)

Seeing the uncut hedges of

A property no longer

Belonging to me. No, not

Mine, but still at heart.

The same lawn I once

Ran complacently across

Amidst a warm summer’s

Day or evening chasing down

The fucking ice cream man.

Feet squeaking audibly

Against worn down metal

Swing set slides.

Vividly (you know it’s

True) vacillating into

The gaze of an early sunset

Streaming with golds

And oranges and such

Proving that a day’s end

Can be just as captivating

As its start.

Blue recycling bin set out

Every Thursday morning

Dew living a short life span

On blades of grass

Until an afternoon sun

Incites their demise (no

Longer do our toes get wet

Once it’s past 11 am)

Strangely thinking

How I haven’t felt that

Feeling in years

The feeling of homesickness

Being alleviated by

The simple task of walking

In through the front door

And smelling the smell

Of your home. Yes, home.

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