Walking home
To get a speech from my father
With a slight queasy feeling
To a house with no mother
Broad gray side of the house we lived in
(They still haven't taken our name off the mailbox)
The woods behind, fully in autumn
I guess I am too, with everything falling
I walked those woods for three long years
Trampled the red leaves under my feet
My blood fed the forest when the thorns bit me deeply
Cold nips my face, a mask of numbness
Past the house a street over I hated with passion
For everything done there, or maybe what wasn't
The courts where we played until long after sundown
Lungs and legs aching from chilled honest effort
But now a hickey and some scratches stand
Where bruises from football games would have resided
I know that I'll just get a speech when I get there
But for now, I am just
Walking home.

09/28/2001