Coming Home
I could navigate
these streets
in my sleep
the wind and turn
the drops of the curbs
I remember where the powerlines lie
I know the turn of the key
the sound it makes
hitting hilt
with a shoulder nudged
hard
to be sure of the give
the smooth of the knob
fitting
just in my palm
like a home there
singing all the while
“this is where your heart is”
it’s a song best whispered
in the ear
of a dreamer
a tune to oil the cranks
and subdue the crack
of crust on the waking eye
home
a place so far
from tangible
that it sits heavy
wherever
you set it down
a suitcase
put to rest under
the stairs
knowing someday
that you will
dust her off
and put on your
travelers shoes again
home cries
a petulant child
with sweating palms
fidgeting with the frayed
seams of clothes
worn hard
all summer
now all your closest things
hide crowded and stuffed
down deep
with no room left
for souvenirs
and home is there waiting
a scrawny cat on
your doorstep
asking you for mercy
and patience
and love
Tita Compere
9/14/12
