How long has it been since I last stood here?
Five years? Six years? Surely not more.
Not long enough for anything to change.
Basement smelling of earthy wood in winter
Faded dishes stacked neatly in the cupboards
Toothpaste in the cup to the left of the sink
A place for everything and everything in it’s place.
How long has it been since I last stood here?
Five years? Six years? Surely not more.
Yet long enough for everything to change.
The dog and cat have passed
and been replaced with newer models.
Not replaced. Perfectly fine in their own right.
But still not the same.
There’s more Shredded Wheat than Golden Grahams
and I’m sleeping the the Guest Bed – my Parent’s Bed –
as my former room is now a study
with two French doors.
There’s WiFi now. Just think of that.
And the woods I once ran blindfolded
are convoluted with unfamiliar twists and turns
confusing my search for familiar landmarks.
How long has it been since I last stood here?
Five years? Six years? Surely not more.
My childhood home is no longer home;
I am a stranger in a strange land.
The Photographs
[click any picture to scroll through the gallery]
The pictures tell the story, too, but only because of the lovely, poignant poem. My own poem would be similar but the pictures would be different — more urban. Thanks for helping me conjure them up.
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I’m planning more posts on my visit home; glad you enjoyed this one.
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I don’t have a childhood home to go back to – it’s been sold. But as long as I was able to visit, it always struck me how much smaller everything seemed. I grew up in rural Pennsylvania too!
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Your poem has the flavor of home and yet not home. I love the personal touches of toothpaste and the different cereals on the shelf. Excellent writing. And I love the pictures, especially the snowy scenes.
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