homecoming part three

how the paint covered where the newspaper text grazed the ceiling to

chase bugs down back to the ground, an escape route, a way under

to watch scenes play out, dance steps retraced and

erased feet that ever stood in the kitchen, stolen kisses to the

chill of the open refrigerator, foreheads pressed, if only for a

second. last time it was about a

boy and last time it was about a boy, pillows growing heavy with

sighs and sobs, pen scratches in notebooks that

never spelled out his name, pages wet with ink and tears mixing, a

quiet comfort in stillness of the bids, the

branches unmoved outside the window through. at

night the dogs bark and in the morning the

children cry, breaking up the quiet stillness of the air, stagnant and

heavy, clinging to the house. the stairs creaking under weight, the

foundation holding its shape for years, secrets of the

past, words whispered to the walls, kept tall with

new paint and dressings. how we hurt when

we cannot heal, tongues tied and hands out reaching. to leave for a life hundreds of

miles away, to come to home that’s changed, the faces melting and

the voices meshing together. to have never changed, to

never be stagnant, to compile contradictions like

journal entries, pasting together pages of who

I’ve been, and who I never will be, shadows dancing,

dreams escaping through the cracked window