Message from Home

                                                    

 All that August the house seesawed

between heat and wet. Bedraggled

relations in souvenir shirts wondered

if they’d brought enough clean underwear.

We exchanged gifts
earmarked for the junk drawer.
The front door swelled shut

and I cased the window like a thief.

They split into cliques,
filling blackout hours with clannish grievance.
I wondered why until my head ached.

When mornings cooled and we recognized

the coffee steam for what it was, we divided

snapshots, reminiscing already, energized

by the idea of parting.

In the wake of kissed air and reconfigured goodbye,

I stood at the door waving, long past the hour

that would have them turning back, frantic

with apology; and rushing into the house,
convinced they had left something precious there,
something they would recognize if they ever saw it again.

-first appeared in Town Creek Poetry