Oh Home That I Knew

Oh Home That I Knew

(“Cast your burden on the Lord, and He will sustain you; He will never allow the righteous to be moved.” Psalm 55:22)

Oh home that I knew;
Oh yard with weeds higher than my waist;
Oh sunshine that kept us California tan;
Oh days so old, I will never get them back;
I would lie in the sun forever back then.
I would answer the phone never knowing who called.
I would walk barefoot on the asphalt
by summer’s end. I would write reams of
poetry about unrequited love.

Oh young man goodbye;
Oh brain full of ideas that transposed;
Oh songs full of borrowed chords and melodies;
Oh front yard laughs, I will never get them back;
I can still hear the hesitant teenage angst.
I would walk by your house and hope to see you there.
I would ride 10 miles on my 10-speed
to see you smile. I would even name poems
with your name in the second line.

I carried a hundred pounds on my back,
I waited a hundred years for your glance,
I wanted some kind of freedom, some brand of freshening air
straight off the bay. I wanted to ride
on the sailboats the rich folks owned.
I wanted to tell you why I was so shy.

Oh burden I bear,
Oh heavy words that weight me like sand;
Oh moonlight that deceived me on the front porch;
Oh fancy dancers how memorized the songs;
I would unload this accumulation of grief,
I would call on the phone to ease your awkward mind.
I would drive the two miles to your house
by the end of the day. I would write it like
a letter and leave it to lighten your day.

Waiting by My Window

Waiting by My Window

Waiting by the window for the rain to fill the yard,
hiding in the closet where joy has been locked up tight,
formless friends never knock on the door while
a few ask about me, electrons sending their questions
with a handful of taps on their phones.

We used to run through the rain,
we used to sit on couches without having to explain,
we ate vegan spaghetti and pasta fagioli,
we traveled over the Cascades for Christmas,
and sometimes played tennis at midnight.

Waiting for the phone to ring, all I get is notifications,
someone has stolen my identity, someone compromised my passwords.
Losing my trajectory I feel my orbit failing,
near the apogee of my revolution I see home-base
rapidly fading.

I have the whole day to think, all day to question my assumptions,
but my mind aches from the outside in
and could use a break
from an old friend or two
who wouldn’t mind meeting for a beer
or a dark brew espresso.

Last night was Halloween and I sat where I could see
the children outside my window
just before they knocked on the door.
One called me by name, and I wish he had stayed.
But his bucket was not full yet. His young voice
stayed with me, a log on the hearth, a distant
ember-infused
smile.

But back to my orbit: I am sorry my tangents
have taken me away from the only solar system I have
every known.
And the distance between us is like a heart slowing down,
memories unmade, and no crew to guide my flight.

Waiting for the apology, and many are waiting for mine.
But I am dust on the shelf. The vise around my brain,
the floods and the rain,
the months and months of isolated pain

See me
waiting by my window again.