I’m Still Not Sure Where Home Is

212 Replies

Everything looks smaller now, the gravel drive,
the yard, the cracked sidewalk leading
to the worn porch. It all burned down and we left it
to run wild, to overgrow our boundaries, to survive
even us. There are weeds where my room used to be,
poison ivy in my closet, grass past knee high by the well.
I don’t know these vines that reach for me as I walk
around the bottom stones of the old house. The snakes
that slither here haven’t shed their skins for me to find.
I used to sit in the grass-soft center of our front yard 
and let the woods quiet my rushing mind. Now I can’t
drive away fast enough. Everything still smells
like smoke. Every thing is still hot to the touch.

212 thoughts on “I’m Still Not Sure Where Home Is”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *