Wednesday, August 27, 2014

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

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