"Back Home Again"

By John Grey

Nothing's where I left it.
Even the inanimate stuff
got up and moved in my absence.
Baseball cards marched from the dresser to the attic.
Baby blue blankets slid into closets
and stayed there.
Pennants hide in boxes beneath comics
and girlie magazine.
So if the souvenirs, the pins, the report cards,
won't sit still,
what hope is there for the people.
Try finding a child anywhere in this house
these days.
Listen for footsteps scurrying upstairs... nothing.
And scratching in the cellar... mice maybe...
but nobody in shorts and t shirt,
their bare feet scuffing up the dust.
Could that wry smile be concealing a grin?
Is the upside of a face ever in its downside?
I stroll slowly through the rooms
knowing I won't find a trace of what I'm looking for.
And yet my heart feels sated, my mind becalmed.
Maybe disappointment is its own reward.

Poet John Grey lives in Providence, Rhode Island. His latest book is “What Else Is There” from Main Street Rag. He has been published recently in Agni, Hubbub, South Carolina Review and The Journal Of The American Medical Association.