Wednesday, June 27, 2012

The Doorbell Button

The other day I started thinking about what it would be like to go home. Not the one you live in now, but the one you lived in as a kid, when everything seemed to be right, when you knew that all you had to do was walk through the door and everything would be okay. Everything the world could throw at you would be deflected. What if you could walk back into that place, the place that held your heart, your dreams of the future, and your feelings of love and safety?

 I can barely remember the first place I called home. It seems like it was so far away. And now it feels as though when I try to go back to that place in my mind, something wants to keep that memory at a distance, some strange forcefeild of time rises up with its dark curtain and pushes me back. Look, but don't touch. There is no malice, its just a place where I no longer belong. It's someone elses home now. The memory is still there, but growing dim, the distance between us diluting the warm sweet taste of home.

Doorbell Button

Once he realized that no one was home
He stepped down from the porch
And scratched his head
Turning to look about the yard
He thought
How long had it been
Twenty-five years
Why did he feel like
Every time he reached out
His hand was slapped back
But every step he took lead here
Always here
But he was never quite home
Wasn’t it Frost that said
Home is the place that when you go there
They have to take you in
Then why did the door stay locked
Why did the lights stay off
Even the little light on the doorbell button
Then he remembered that it didn't work
And it never did
He turned to leave, looking at the ground
Fall leaves
Fall birds
A heavy heart
Nothing but the sound of a plane overhead
Only to find himself knocking on the door

Tony Whitford