I think of home.

And the first thing that
springs to mind
is the way my mother's
best friend and her husband
would have International Coffee's
French Vanilla

waiting for the water to boil
pouring it over the powder
in the off-white teacups
with the blue rims

when I was old enough
they'd let me have it with them
I would sit and
listen to the grown-ups talk
for hours

rather than playing with other children.

Jello and Cool Whip
were things we had
at other people's houses
or church potlucks.

My mother may have been
white trash born and bred
but there were things we
didn't do.

Pancakes were never made
from a mix. Dogs and cats
were never allowed
in the house.

In fact, home for me
came to be defined more
by what you couldn't do
than what you could
or what you had.

Yet
all these years later
I find, slowly, that
there are things I miss.

Knowing next door neighbors
eating with friends
the familiarity that grows
from years of relationship
and the knowingness that
there will always be enough time.

The feeling that people
really know you
and really do care
and will always be there
for you, because you matter
to them, somehow
no matter what goes on
with your "family".

Even if you don't
fit in or with them or
believe the same things
they do, you just keep it
to yourself
because
they love you and you'll
never change their mind
anyway.

You know better.

Spreading tentative wings
flirting with married men
who've known you all
your life and
dote on you, would never
could never hurt you
while their wives watch
with amusement so safe
and secure in their marriages.

They lend you their
husbands to practice on
with never a word said
and just some sort of unspoken
understanding, no matter how
thick the sexual tension
you spread

you're contained. Safe with them.

And now, from here
after years of rebelling
against all of that
running far far away
and putting so much
distance between you
and them, perhaps
perhaps one morning you
just wake up and
wish you could
smell
taste
touch
that French Vanilla
and be held once more
by strong arms
that will never belong
to you
but will always belong
to you
arms strong enough to
hold all the tears and
angst in the world
and cajole you back
to sanity.

I miss feeling
like I belong to people.

I have this strong
web spun around me
a cocoon of friends
and ex-lovers and virtual
relationships, but I
don't belong anywhere
and after all this time
I want to belong.

11/27/2007

Posted on 11/27/2007
Copyright © 2024 Gira Bryant