The Visit

And there it was

the smokey, white globe at the end of the driveway –

my moon

my beacon

the fixture that somehow always kept my blood at room temperature

when close to a boil

when cold

as ice.


The soft hue of the low wattage, creamy glow

spilled out to the edge of the block;

one yard would end

another would begin,

the sidewalks lining the peaceful labyrinth that was my neighborhood

my playground.

When the light grew dim

I had the rest


every curve


picket fence

stop sign

willow tree, gravel bed.


How strange to be a stranger

at the foot,

the edge,

of the home

blanketed in my voice

painted with the imprint of my toes

awash with memories –

the beginning of

my life.


I backed out slowly

turned my head once more, wheels facing forward,

to look at her one last time.

She smiled at me from our bedroom window,

through the slit between shade and wall –


We understood then

we would never be

uninvited guests.



One thought on “The Visit

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