We All Did

I don’t know about you, or anyone, really
but I think that I belong here.
We all do. But I don’t think I belong with them
you know,
the people that live in white open faced houses
sitting temporarily on the green lawn
split by an entranceway for the minivan
next to another fake home
and another the same
where the kids grow up gazing into the recently regrown forest
that probably wont last much longer
wishing to peer into the eyes of a deer
an arrowhead, an archway to the past
but all there are
are broken bottles and glass
old tire tracks and stone walls like
the bones you can see through skin
and scars that are healing
protected by the skinny trees
and wet leaves being eaten back to the ground
another temporary cycle
and when the kids grow up
they don’t know what they want to do
they want to try it all
to do more than their parents
to erase the vinyl siding from the landfills
to be remembered
not for fame
but for heart
for finding their real home
protecting their parents
and their home’s next generation
for a while
even if it means not growing old
and fat and jolly like they say
but eccentric and strange like they say
alive and open and knowing
what the real world means to them
not the straight A’s or pretty faces or a stable job
but an experience
a life with others that the small appreciate
gazing at the sky
and the ground
and the faces, smile through grit
through yourself
your home
for a while


One thought on “We All Did

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