Day 357 – Jetlag

Took the red-eye down to Grandma

she got me full of that Cuban espresso

Dad’s going 90 all the way back north.

I sleep in fits in the front, she keeps that

conehead dog in the back, he bites most people

but I know that dog likes me. All of my

childhood pets are dead, they buried Jack

in the yard after he got sick and Penny ran

into that wild coyote. Mom got some new cat,

she gave it a name I can’t pronounce, and he’s

no Percy but I guess he’ll have to do. My brothers

speak in different tones than I remember, they

followed suit and went to college after I left—

think I was onto something early and it stuck.

They’re talking Christmas lights tomorrow at

the Roost, my teenage thinking lake, I wonder

how anywhere could hold so much water.

They don’t ask me hard questions, they’re just

happy that I’m here, remodeled the bathroom,

bought new cars, got put on meds, and lost a tooth.

I sip it slowly, the ways we all have changed, the

ways I thought I did, I ran for years, gave up

the thought of having home— but it’s still here.

You can’t lose home— we’ll still play chess

and my Dad will always win and for once I

won’t mind to lose.

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