I got home last night somehow

I know because I woke up in my bed

Went to the kitchen and made my coffee

Shoes placed neatly by the door

Someone must have brought me

 

The sun in the blinds is more than I want

Too much for my tender eyes

Who, last I knew, were awake in the darkness

Then asleep in the same

Now the day seems to hold something so equally tender

And I just don’t know if I can care for something like that

 

I drink coffee, I don’t eat

Cold bathroom tile on my feet

Warm kitchen wood floor next

No grass, although I feel my soles longing to know if it’s full of dew of or frost today as we rest in peculiar fashion upon the bridge of two seasons

 

Maybe my chair will feel like home

Or it could drop me

Maybe my loneliness stayed in the night where I left all memory of yesterday

And this is just an echo

Maybe I’ve always been fine

Maybe home would feel different if it was really mine

Perhaps my questioning only gets me into trouble and today I should stay here and focus solely on the life that feels more like home than where my feet fall

 

I organize the shoes

Create a pile again

Mine.

They are clean,

The bottoms are white.

I open the blinds.

The grass it wet, it rained last night.

 

Who carried me?