Except that there are no filthy clothes
Strewn wall to wall,
How long does a son’s room remain
Configured, un-repainted, musting
After he has moved away?
How long should the bed stay posted
Under the same window, against the same wall?
The stars outside that window have moved on
The sun outside has bowed low
And stood high
And I?
I catch that same train, you know,
Like so many thousands of times,
I am more constant
Than those constant stars
“where is that at, you wonder?”
“if you want me I’ll be waiting in the car,”
Listening to the same old music.
I wonder
If I built this place for them-
And they are gone,
Why do I stay?
Why not find a place of my own.
A home where I don’t peek
Into vacant rooms
Hoping each time I open the door
For wall to wall clothing
Strewn on the floor.
1 comment:
Its just so you know there is a place you can secretly call home, even if you don't live there. Warmth in familiarity.
On the other hand - home is where the heart is, so I'm sure wherever you are and wherever you call home, they will too.
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