COMFORT

When I arrived

In the place that I wasn’t from

I was running away

Hoping for something

Wasn’t sure what

Vaguely it was for something

Like shedded snakeskin

For change

To make me anew

Checking in to the room

I sit on the bed

To ground myself

In the unfamiliar

As my mind drifted

To all the things I’ve done wrong

The people I’ve let down

The life I struggle to claim as mine

The purpose for it I ache to find

I see the ceiling fan above me

Spinning without noise

I smell sweetness in the bedsheets

Or is it in the air?

It feels alien

I speak to myself

Perhaps a little roughly,

“Remember why you are here,

Remember why you needed to get away

This is good,

You idiot.”

In the bathroom

Soap brands I’ve never heard of

Shower head pressure I’ve never felt before

Bathroom tiles I’ve never held with my toes

Running a hand across my face

In an immaculate mirror

Hair where there hadn’t been

When I was happy

I look older with it

More tired

I’m unhappy

I look at a collection

Of razors

Nestled in neat arrangement

Resting on the bathroom counter

My fingers brush against them

Then draw away

I keep this face

For now

And so

In every little way

Run from myself

These people have money and then some

Nearby a sauna, a jacuzzi

And a view to murder for

All mine

For a few days

The towels are immaculate

They smell of artificial lilac

I look in the closet

Shoe-polish and shoe-horns

Shelves of organization

I do not feel my usual claustrophobia

Everything is clean and open and bare

Here I can think

Here I can

Think

Remember

Walls crowded

Everything my mother gathered

To fill our space

Useless things

Tacky things

Cute things

Beautiful things

I have a claustrophobia

Perhaps from this, perhaps just in general

Yet

I’m not above it

This continual pursuit

My tastes different

Yet as she does

I gather

Things

My father annoyed at her collections

His workshop filled with his own

Tools and saws and oil filters

Hammers and lumber and screws

I have a claustrophobia

Perhaps from this, perhaps just in general

Yet

I’m not above it

This continual pursuit

My tastes different

Yet as he does

I gather

Things

Returning from memory

I walk around

In this room, nothing is gathered

Everything has a place

An abundance of things

Useful things

Things for which I have no idea their purpose

All of them

Tucked out of sight

Labelled

In drawers, boxes, cases and cupboards

Accessible and tidy

Every comfort and need seen to

By some object or instrument

And yet

Salmon painted on the floor by my grandmother

Air still faintly tasting

Of cigarettes she quit years ago

Old school country pining over the speakers

Cabinets of medicines

Gathered from the land

The richness of a wood stove

Mumbling to a murmur

Asking for more kindling

NO.

I am here

My body is here

I must be here

Here is so different

The kitchen is beautiful

The kitchen is stocked

With coffee-makers and blenders

Tools of every sort

Everything you could need

To make any dish in the world

Faux-marble countertops

Every edge curved and softened

There is no flour spilled on the

Flour spilled

Stains on our stove

Don’t use the top right burner

It’s a piece of shit

Eye this kitchen like a hawk

The smoke detector is always

Looking for an excuse

To act up

Flour spilled

It’s under our fingernails

On the floor

By the burnmarks

That look a little like a dragon

What did we make this time?

The usual? A special treat?

A celebration? Frybread?

I can smell it and it’s like

It’s like—

Returning from memory

Cotton white walls

This space feels so open

So this is what it’s like?

I’m in a homeowner’s magazine

This is the new white picket fence

I’m so fortunate

This place is wonderful

A dream come true

A glimpse at the paradise

Few have

I sit on the bed

In the place I wasn’t from

Not a sound

No creaking of tired bedsprings

No scratching of woolen blankets

Or the smell of my cedar bed-frame

I sit on the bed

What a beautiful place

Is what I tell myself

Before I begin

To sob

This place

Refined and empty

Brings me to my grief

It gives me a place for my sorrow

I realize maybe that’s all I wanted

But for me

There is no comfort

Here

When I arrive

In the places that I am from

I will roll my eyes at the clutter

Grind my teeth at the mismatched everything

Take for granted every smell and sound

But perhaps

Now I will see

Despite the frustration

The dysfunction

The things

The claustrophobia

The things around every corner that don’t make sense

Or those that lead to hilarious dead ends

Maybe now I will know

That these places hold the people I love

The land that runs in my veins

And so many different pieces of me

Memories

Stories

Laughter

Childhood toys

Movie nights

Cuddling dogs and cats

Feeding the fish

Sleeping in on Sundays

Waking up early on Sundays

Kissing girlfriends

Promises

Broken

Heartbreak

Drink it all away

I’m broken

Curses

Self-hatred

I’m broken

Drink it all away

Panic attacks

Losing my faith

I’m broken

Drink it all away

Desire

Despair

Wish I was never born

Drink myself away

And yet

Look deeper

And yet

Look bigger

And yet

Look closer

There is more

There is

Comfort

Maybe when I walk through that door again

Floormat that always lifts

with the swinging of the door

That I must then smooth back down again with my foot

Maybe then

When I stand inside

My feet crowded by scattered smelly shoes

Carpet ugly and dirty

Walls obscured by things

Mantles and tables littered in mementos

Maybe then

I will breathe in the familiarity

Maybe then

I will look at the ground and see

I stopped drinking myself away

Maybe then I will see

I am here

I’ve shedded snakeskin

I hope I will hold that moment

That peace

That comfort

Just for a little bit

And smile.