Home
Is
where your heart is…
A
silly jingle, but like many
True,
Once
you get over the idea of the heart
Representing
all kinds of far more complicated stuff…
You
know, like the feelings you get running your hands
Over
the rough spot on a bedroom door
From
being touched there by you
And
whosever gone in there with you,
Maybe
hundreds, or even thousands of times.
Or
the paint you’ve rubbed off the top rail of the metal bed frame
That
you bought at a yard sale when your first was born,
That
you always held onto
When
you’d come in singing softly
To
help them fall asleep.
Whew,
and that’s only two places in ‘home’ isn’t it?
And
there are hundreds, or maybe even thousands
More.
Then
time passes.
Friends
and family leave, get ill,
Maybe,
pass on, as your memories do,
Despite
you saying that that will never happen.
You
move on.
Close
to a son or daughter,
Who
help you find a smaller house,
Or
an apartment or a condo,
Without
stairways or basements;
With
washers and dryers next to the furnace
And
just around the corner from the kitchen.
You’ll
be by a major university with lots of programs,
And
some classes to take,
And
of course, there’s more:
You’re
close to old friends from a book club,
Or
some alum friends who also live nearby.
On
your birthday,
They
throw you a party.
They raise their glasses
Of Champagne
To toast you:
“Here’s
to your new home.”
They’re
all smiling.
You
smile back,
But
it never, never, never, never, is.
