Coming Home

I expected to live in a row
Of bright houses
Where fathers
Who smell of leather cases
And clean-shaven faces
Only come home for dinner.

I planned to build a life,
Well-fortified by
Unbothered smiles and regularity;
Soccer cleats on neat hooks
And draped windows,
Behind which no one raises voices.

When time came,
I watched myself, curiously
Pass over printed phrases
And empty vases;
I watered untrimmed roses –
And pinned love (slightly crooked)
Over cracks in my walls.

As it passed,
I began to speak softly
To the cobwebbed corners;
I painted over
Each paw print and peccadillo,
Like a prayer.

I trod bare-feet on
A winding, unpaved road;
I came home to my imperfect life.

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© Savannah Smiley Sterrett 2022