Guilford Avenue

When we made a home

I thought it was the orange wall

the window that never locked,

the cats favorite perch

To a part of the blue light city 

we never craved

but now,

I long to wrap my arms around 

Like a child 

dragging 

on her parents ankles

as they head out of the toy store

empty handed 

When we made a home

I thought it was 

the wooden dents under our bed frame

the splinter I walked on for weeks

And your singing 

echoing as weathered hymns 

to slow dance in the

dining room

To the painted light

we lusted into

caressing from the 

innocence of each window

and at times neon green florescent 

When we made a home

not the walls or the contents

or kitchens where

we yelled

“behind!”

And collided

like fridge doors

and hot summer ovens

Burnt cookies

Where you held me

under pink skies 

in our magical roof top 

baby bok choy garden

You the farmer

regardless of 

my love of concrete

When we made a home

It was the bits of you 

and the bits of me

A couple loving

in spite of everything

and because of everything

Because you see,

We 

We made a home.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

There is a saying, "Home is where the heart is", when I read your poem I was reminded of those words. Nicely expressed and I enjoyed the read.Thank you.

[Nipplegrinder]

I absolutely love this. Every word choice.

[wordman]

and it is a happy home i hope