Family
I like it better when you are home
visiting with the lives you have taken
in your separate directions in tow.
Look, here you are, returning
for the festival of the open weekend
or Spring Break Eve like pilgrims
who make a lovely trek of remembrance.
And you settle in well enough to what
was your bed, but isn't now.
You are vacationing here
in a familiar place with familiar attractions
and the must-do activities
and meals that become the story, the history
of the place that is home and not home.
And we repeat the pleasing patterns
of past visits: past questions,
past laughter, past games, past problems.
The circular act of re-creation
is both less and more than I imagine it will be.
A reiteration, rather than a new verse.
A favorite recipe written in ink.
No one could be satisfied to stay in place
or to become a museum collection. I know.
But look how happily I gather you,
how easily I return you to your place.
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