Chili

A thunderstorm will bring an alleviation

that my parents never could.

It drowns out everything that does and does not matter,

With no preference for either.

The tent has flooded

I am broke

I am tired

I want to go home.

My sleeping bag caught on fire

spinning on coins I couldn’t afford to waste.

When everything but my eyes were finally dry

I needed coffee.

My apartment is filled with mold.

I scrub. I sweat. I scrub some more.

I worry.

How hard my body must fight

to keep it from sticking to my lungs

if I scrub this hard

to keep it from sticking to this shitty laminate.

In writing, mold is not my landlord’s problem

Should have read the fine print

The print that is fine

to overlook

until it’s not.

Lucky I am,

for three dogs that make me forget

The fungus I think of a lot.

We need you closer to home

My father’s echo

I’m not ready

I want my degree.

The truth is

I won’t ever pull the trigger

Pack up, leave comfort behind

It will just happen one day

I will be the busiest I have ever been

Life falling into some sort

of resemblance

of order,

I will get the call.

Something has happened.

Your father is on life support.

Your mother tried to jump from the top floor.

My father is in the hospital.

My mother has lost what's left.

This is not home, but this is where I am.

This is the furthest from home I have ever felt.

The sun is up.

Does morning smell of homemade muffins

or of stale piss

Will she hand me a fresh cup of coffee

or stand over me while I pretend to sleep,

mumbling,

both of you unsure

what it means and

what will happen next.

A deep breath

Ready to dispel

The lies she has told herself overnight

I have the script memorized

Will there be evaporated mush

Burnt elbows

Chili left out for days

Until the flies have found it.

Well, it finally thawed

When will I.

Only when I borrow the cold nose

and the soft, sad glances of deep brown eyes,

do I feel pieces of myself

finding their way back together.

Once home was a dirt road

A black and white notebook

Cheap binoculars

Mysteries to solve.

My brother, me and company

disguised by the neighborhood watch assumption

of kids being kids.

I loved the pecan tree in the backyard

and the small orange cat that crawled out from it one day.

The miles of backroads

and freedom our bikes allowed.

A cracked pool

a small school

and residents of the prison

doubling as groundskeepers and repairmen.

A town filled with plenty of moral code enforcers,

a man’s touchiness excused by God.

A small road

A peer into a different life

The houses are not alike.

A brick lined entryway,

a single Victorian lamplighter,

mailboxes cemented inside,

mismatching the bungalows behind it.

A rusty oil drum atop a rock bed,

dining room chairs, sofas, charcoal grills

scattered in the grassy open space

between gatherings.

There is nowhere to hide the laundry.

Home is a village.

Keep walking and you will run

into the others.

Where a struggle begins

to make your home not yours

But just like theirs.

Any differences covered up

like a turd in a litter box,

no one talks about the smell.

Like everything else

the joy of the crickets

the frogs,

at once a symphony of noises,

is now boring into my brain,

trying to get to where I cannot.

Is it silence I need

or loud traffic.

I fear that not even the loudest song

or piercing words can replace

this noise in my head.

One day, I hope

home will be,

Bugs offering

appreciative licks after

endless capers.

More books and wine

than I can devour,

more words in my head

than there are pages in a notebook.

Nylon, cedar or

shitty drywall,

somewhere I don’t worry

about the landing

when I fall.