Poem a Day 2023

kept company by the perpetual
not knowing
if a place is home
if it could be
if it should be
curves move a different way
in the light of regret

in the 80's my parents' landlord
set fire to their building 
to help entice them to break their 20 year lease
(along with some hush money)
and besides my dad had a new cult
based out of the river valley
that caught his fancy
so that’s how we ended up in the drafty house
with bats in the eaves

and the big hill to mow

and more rooms than we could really know

what to do with

and then soon

another old house to roam

splitting time

when my dad left my mom

for the mother of my brother's classmate

with a big porch

and a gravel pit up the hill

then later an even bigger old house

to fit all the kids

with a hefty down payment lent

from my great uncle

and was never paid back

a bigger porch

where we sat and watched cars drive by

trying to guess their color before they popped into sight

a room for each of us

the rooms connected all in a circle

and we chased each other

like chasing our tails until the house filled up with stuff

and all three places each felt so strongly like home

growing up in the rooms 

and in the yards

the corners all adding up

to the place where my childhood happened

and now each is gone 

like a cookie jar so far out of reach

we could drive by

knock on the door 

if we're bold

and give the old "we used to live here"

song and dance

and hope to take a peek around

but looking back

did they feel like home to the grownups 

i wonder?

did they feel they'd chosen?

they'd arrived somewhere they wanted to be?

is it owning a place that makes you finally

set your bag down?

or was the perpetual angst

of the frozen pipes

the laundry room floor that was just dirt

enough to keep their eyes pinned

backward or forward

to some other

better place?