day 43 pome 23

((written while listening to this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JnGBs88sL0))

It sprouted legs and asked to leave so you,
always the independent type, opened the door
and watched it go. Swore
you didn't mind, swept up the house
in its absence, took up new hobbies,
knitting, painting, started flossing again,
with regularity. It strolled out the door,
leaking just a little, understandable,
considering, and took off down the road
for its own adventures. You smiled (only
halfway) and shook your head then waited
for the postcards, one from Portugal
with images of green, rolling hills,
a sea as big as the space it left behind, one
from Newfoundland, with stories of songs
sung by old fisherman, one from London,
a photo of a pint and fish
and chips, of course, no mention of a single
I love you, never once
an I miss you, not so much
as a return address, understandable,
considering, and then
came the postcard from the desert from
the birthplace of us all, that is to say,
it returned home, a real home of sorts,
wrote stories of salvation, tales
of heroism and you
just rubbed the place in your chest
it left behind. The day your heart
came home, you threw your arms wide, confessed
every moment you spent in its absence
spelling its name with your breath
like a prayer, you opened
the door on your breast and your heart
climbed back inside, and the two of you
curled up in bed like little babies and slept
for days and days, understandable, considering.