HOME | DD

Description
I want to be the home of whispers,
the house of dripping water and blooming
plants, the shelter of childish drawings
and books with broken spines; I want to
hear the gossiping mothers tell their gossiping
daughters how my home is full of fresh air and
the feeling of watching a sunrise in a new country.

The windows would all be open, gauzy and
bright curtains billowing in the breeze
the high rise would always have, and no door
would have a lock and some doorways would
have no door; music would drift to the
pavement below and everyone would hear
the crooning voices of men with diamonds for
teeth and the plucked strings of instruments that
are known for nothing but love songs created
for lovers who do not live anymore.

I want to be the off-key singing of my mother,
her eagerness outshining the scattered notes
she knows she cannot pass through her throat,
the vintage loveliness of her albums wrapped in a
faux modern progressiveness; I want to be
the call of the morning and the kiss of the night,
the pink of the dawn on days that are not the weekend
and the purple of the dusk during full moons.

The neighbors would all know me as the friendly
stranger, oddly welcoming to anyone willing to
trade a good story for good food, and they
would speak fondly of the dancing to absolutely
nothing at all; there would be skirts in the winter
and scarves in the summer—the sky and the clouds
and the child who insists that a lion hides in its'
whiteness an everyday comment to accompany my
many days where everyone speaks in sly glances
and brand new vinyl records and breathless giggles.

I want to be the home of good mornings and
good nights; the home of beads, of drapes, of
worldly treasures; the home of lemonade in January
and hot chocolate in July, of holiday candles during
everything but the holidays; I want to be the home of
never-ending music, of a beat that helps the neighbors
below to wake, of a melody that persuades the neighbors
above to dress up for a day inside, of a harmony that
invigorates the neighbors down the halls to move and skip
and twirl and do more than simply be.

And everyone would know the home full of laughter
and love and friendships, even when it is empty -
even when I do not live there anymore.