But the Ground Remembers Her

"if youre gonna go, take the ones you gave to me", istanbul, turkey, ashley brown

holidays are not always sweet. you notice the changes in your home. the ones your parents make after the children have moved out and show their stories and the child you only used to be. ive been waking up late, but not to the wild, untamed light and cathedral shapes against my sheets and walls, but to the pale glow of cold days and weeded flower beds. ive been missing home, but the not the one i visit during the holidays. more,perhap, i am missing the feeling of home, also found in things like first loves and last ones, old treehouses,and abandoned candlelit church rooms. i mourn the loss of past homes. the one with the yellow swingset and hole iwth red dirt i thought would lead me across the world. the one in the one i love, weaved graciously with many conversations a few words. the one watched over by an angel tree 4 stories high, at least that. the one with the scars on its wooden floors. and i am filled with the anxious and expected coming of new homes. of ones with new scars to find and to be made. of one that doesn't build up from the earth, but down from somewhere north of here. and of ones that might someday remember my passing from the familiar weight i left on their grounds and bodies.