I-5 carries me on the southern destination

the same trusted rest stop
pine trees to sagebrush
the tree bearing rusty sneakers

stomach churns down the notorious hill
yielding at our only stoplight-
two years since being
graced by your presence

my hands are moist
and grip the battered wheel

hesitant eyes drown in the
conscience of thick blood

heart punches through the solar plexus

dragging my scrap of metal around the block
one time
three times
seven and now ready

pulling up to a foundation that
contains eighteen years of existence

legs tremble up those rigid pebbled steps

knock knock on the cracked yellow door


i am home.