desireearmfeldt

I spent our marriage
coming home to you:
travelling light, sleeping rough,
following your window-light
to the end of my road.

You were my Pole Star
and I knew
(I didn’t want to know)
that stars get lonely
(stars have tempers too),
but oh,
I didn’t know
that stars rot in the ground
like any other mortal bones.

I spent our marriage
like a wastrel
who can’t imagine the day
he’ll find his pocket empty,
until I was stony broke
broken stone

Our home was your home,
my home was you.
Without you,
how could I be a home
for anyone to come home to?

I spent my life
waiting to go home to you.
You never came to me,
not once.
Why wasn’t I your home?
Why did you let the snow
be stronger than your love?

And now I find
I’ve spent my death
spitting into the storm,
refusing to turn around
and hunt for the lost turning
where the trail leads back to your door.

And now I find you
waiting for me in the snow
where I left you,
shining your lantern on the cleared path
holding out your hand
to fetch me home.

Stupid man
you built a cabin with your own hands:
how many years did you need
to learn
to make yourself a home
to light a fire
to guide me back to you?