I use the word 'because' as a club.
My brother had asked me why I was against going back to visit
My grandparents over the summer.
Here is what I did not say.
Because the house is forgotten.
Because it is barely standing, because it is sagging under the memories
Which had
Eaten away its foundations.
Because the calendar was left open
On its last page, four years ago.
Because the house is too big,
With its ceilings and rooms and extra beds for gone brothers.
It’s too small now because,
The mirrors are all the right heights.
The bed too short, the clothes too tight, the floor too new from old renovations -
Four years ago. Because
The garden’s overgrown and needs racking,
And I can’t.
Because when I wake up in my room,
My eyes hit the roof window
And I think I'm dreaming.
-
I use the word 'sometimes' as a band aid.
Some-times, not always, some times.
Here’s what I did not dare think.
Sometimes I wish I was back there,
Home.
Not always - I'm too busy wishing for other things, chasing other dreams,
Or on the contrary, trying to not care anymore,
Just
Sometimes.
Sometimes I miss my art class, the orange and grey of my neighbourhood,
And sometimes even the beautiful backstabbing friends
And the double-sphere white-chocolate-panda candies which someone gave out without fail,
Every Halloween.
In my dreams, when I creep into my old school, attend shimmering classes and wave hello to
People that I was too afraid to keep in touch with,
I relive every scenario, play every character, and I yearn.
But corridors bend and break, and it is clear,
I do not fit in anymore.