New Home

Reilley on Oct 5, 2009

Finally unpacked, and able to call the place home.

It is not true to say
That I do not push time forlorn
As I move from home to home.

What is left of the house in me
And what is left of me in the house;
Minus the time since I’ve left;
Equals my imprint on the place.

Back in the old neighborhood,
They still tell the tale
Of the time I jumped the motorcycle
Off the freeway ramp -
So I left a big footprint there.

The new coffee shop
Down the street from our new place
That I’ve been to exactly twice,
Has forgotten me already.

What used to be joyful flashes
Are now moistened over memories
Toasted to give the crust some edge.

But in the right this second
I watch the sun go down
Over my new residence,
Drowsy drink in hand…

And call it home.

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Comments (5)

raman13 on Oct 5, 2009
good
Papa Sparks on Oct 6, 2009
You can’t go home again…we try, but home sometimes only exists in our minds and in our words.

Nice one.
Cynthia Bartlett on Oct 7, 2009
I hear that one.
moving isn’t fun.

hope you get settled to the point it’s home.
I became a “hobbit” I have my own pint size home just for me.

working through the debris affectionately called genealogy.

it’s a work in progress.
cutedrishti8 on Oct 11, 2009
nice one…
CutestPrincess on Nov 4, 2009
a well written piece with great delivery,

Hi there!