Rough put together are the years
that weave together to be my life.
My head has rested many places,
from log cabins to barns to woods
where I slept because I had no home.
Shotgun cabins in Montana towns.
Shacks on the Oregon coast, blown
by the breath of an Ocean wind.
Transient were my years of youth.
Then years in houses most lovely,
in the best parts of this Portland town.
Steady and steadfast, growing strong. . .
Until my footfalls fell in with his,
and everything slipped quickly away
to that ice storm that bled upon a
suitcase put over my head for cover.
Now home is here with the cats,
door locked tight against the possibility
of becoming stupid and vulnerable once more.
Home is within me, where I live inside my skin.
In a list
A contest entry
- Home by CarolDesjarlais.
1500 points, ended November 25, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Tell me what you think, but kindly, please.
Comments
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oh, ps, it was always my greatest fear that I woudl be an old woman in a basement, orange lipstick lines running up to my nose...stained fingers from smoking rollies, a cat and a dog and a walker.
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Oh, man, this draws the reader in. The insinuations, the stuff between the lines. A reader manages easily to create the wholer story in her head.
Thank you so much for entering this truly evocative piece.
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