03/17/2026 (c)
After decades of absence,
I am in my parent’s bedroom.
They are both dead
so the bedsheets aren’t pulled
to military perfection.
My siblings and I consider
living here again—
together—
in this asbestos-plated house,
where paint has been emptied
into the rhododendron bush,
the roses pulled out.
Everything is painted a muted pea-green.
A four-bedroom house and still
we fight over this room—
the one that doesn’t get light.
My sister and brother
have homes out of state
I have a home in this city.
Still, I know
I will be the one
who can’t stay away,
can’t stop looking
for an ounce of warmth.
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