There is beauty in coming home

as if you are the same person

who once climbed up on the roof,

or scaled the oak tree,

or searched under rocks for an ant farm

& yet there is something unbearable

about the splintering deck,

the damaged shingles,

the mint green paint

& your mother is waiting for you

but her hair is gray & her eyes worn

& her hug does not feel as strong

& she seems smaller

everything does

& there is beauty in selling

this house that was your home

in seeing the new owners

& imagining the new lives

waiting to be lived

You do not admit,

not yet--

that you are both happy

& burdened by this thought

Inspired by:

 "Where the Crawdads Sing," Delia Owens, 2018

"All the Bright Places."Jennifer Niven, 2016

Excerpt from All the Bright Places

“I stand in front of the mirror and study my face.…It is the face of a sad, lonely girl something bad has happened to. I wonder if my face will ever look the same again, or if I’ll always see it in my reflection - Finch, Eleanor, loss, heartache, guilt, death.”