white paint peeling like old snow,
floors that spoke in creaks and sighs,
radiators knocking through February.
I learned my name there,
wrote it in pencil thick as belief.
I haven’t lived there in decades.
I traded hills for horizons,
became fluent in departures
Still—
every road bends back
They will lock the door.
The swings will stiffen.
The map of Vermont will curl
on a wall no one faces
I travel like a vagabond,
pockets full of other skies,
but that small building
is the only place
that ever kept my echo.
Now it goes dark,
and I am homeless
in every country.
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 5:03 PM UTC
white paint peeling like old snow,
floors that spoke in creaks and sighs,
radiators knocking through February.
I learned my name there,
wrote it in pencil thick as belief.
I haven’t lived there in decades.
I traded hills for horizons,
became fluent in departures
Still—
every road bends back
They will lock the door.
The swings will stiffen.
The map of Vermont will curl
on a wall no one faces
I travel like a vagabond,
pockets full of other skies,
but that small building
is the only place
that ever kept my echo.
Now it goes dark,
and I am homeless
in every country.
