Eighteen years
In one home
felt comfortable…
Easy… like a well worn path in the woods.
I knew where I was going.
Now I feel lost, because I am.
My path, my home, has ended.
One hand delivered letter from Mr Landlord
and here I am
sleeping in a room
at my friend’s house.
My cat paces this room
wondering why he is locked in.
As I drive by tents on the side of the road
I wonder.
We are Everywhere.
The lost.
Our paths may be found within
but I sure do miss
my home.