Responding to a Previous Post
‘HOMELESS TOTALLY DESPARATE’
So said his cardboard message, 46th Street exit.
How vulnerable, terrifying to admit:
totally desparate.
But that’s not me, no no.
He and I have nothing in common.
I’ve got DVDs, booze, lunches,
yard work, books, internet, laundry,
work trips, software updates,
hobbies, schedule, family demands
busy, busy, Busy —-
too much to let me touch
That Place.
Where, perhaps, we each have lived
or visited long enough to grow
uncomfortably familiar.
He nodded at me, my blue Subaru.
Perhaps he recognized –
So I wonder
beyond my fireplace candles, flickering ruby and gold,
cobalt dinner plates, and my documented life in picture frames, where
is my home? Do I carry it within me,
like his
world in a knapsack?
Who would I be without this lathe and plaster to whisper my name,
adoring patronage in every room?
I drove back and offered him lunch. Not much, but –
He cheerfully declined, through black-tooth grin,
“No, thanks. I’m about to leave.”
And go where?
March 30th, 2007 at 7:29 am
[...] In fact, I just reread the poem I published in the previous entry and laughed. It has everything in it that I’ve been feeling and articulating internally for the past six months or more: where is my home? How do I left my lifestyle force-feed gnawing inside me? Who would I be living with something uncomfortable or visiting That Place? And perhaps the biggest one: Go where? [...]
March 30th, 2007 at 3:30 pm
Very nice poem. It hits everyone at the heart of what is really home? who we are? where are we going?
April 8th, 2007 at 10:44 pm
[...] I had no idea how much of my identity was tied up in this house. Well, that’s not true exactly. I do have some idea…I wrote a poem that touched this connection (a few lines at least) several weeks ago. But it’s so strange wandering around looking at my beloved family and friends thinking, ‘Yup…they have to go. Too much personality.’ [...]