past a row of cottages, neatly
tucked behind white picket fences,
red roses in tidy gardens,
and daydreamed of some day
my world would change.
We lived in a rented duplex,
each night, a cacaphony of raised voices,
the clink of glasses and bottles,
and in the morning, with ashtrays to clean,
I tiptoed around sleeping strangers
before I walked to school.
I never believed I would live
each night, a cacaphony of raised voices,
the clink of glasses and bottles,
and in the morning, with ashtrays to clean,
I tiptoed around sleeping strangers
before I walked to school.
I never believed I would live
in such a cottage, and then I met you,
my traveling man, maps in hand,
telling stories along the way, predicting
adventures in how many countries?
We slept in so many places,
learned new languages, crossed mountains,
swam in exotic seas, explored great cities
and rooms and rooms of paintings
cloistered in museums we made our own,
trekked through forests and deserts,
stopped near waterfalls to simply listen,
until we had our precious child.
We settled in one place,
with space for books and art and music:
delight upon delight,
even now, a healing place,
our home.
Image by Lars Nissen from Pixabay
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