March 18, 2009

The monkey bag

They are gone for the week,
Jangly balls of pre-pubescent chaos.
The house waits, still,
Expectant,
Anticipation coursing through brick mortar wood

I clean unimpeded.
Then weep.
Thinking of a soon time,
far away,
getting close enough
to touch,
to taste,
to see.

Horizons where they will depart
and I will clean bedrooms for the last time.
Remove the detritus of childhood,
tiny leopard purses, teeny shoes
bits of starships,
marbles,
scraps of notes.
To make way for guestrooms
where there were once inhabitants.

Where I will pass the monkey bag,
across miles
And the house will
Wait.
Still.
Expectant.


I
am
not
ready.

3 comments:

Sarah said...

Good thing they will be back soon! I will get you a little piece of sunshine and then you will be fine.

Suzanne said...

Do you need a tissue? They were just at Mom's for the week. Not like they were totally gone and you couldn't go get them. Shit, I'd be turning cartwheels if both were gone for a week! And you should know from personal experience that most of them don't leave until they are like 22 or even 24, so you've got what? 12 years?

Problem with you is that you don't have back up things to do & keep busy.

John B. said...

Hello from a fellow Wichitan via Douglas & Main.

I like this poem. My girls are either at or on the cusp of puberty, but I remember the days they were born like it was yesterday. Bittersweet. But this is what happens when you keep feeding them.