Imprompt Home

Home

My home’s supposed to be an empty nest;

our two birdies flew the coop,

but now we care for two nonverbal people,

a shuffler and a wheeler.

The house is clean enough

to keep away the health department

and dirty enough to know my time

is spent on other worthwhile things—

like writing, that shows an interesting

person hides in there somewhere,  

and exercising and praying enough

to keep body and soul together.

Paintings, from places I traveled,

hang with a picture from Hawaii,

the only state I haven’t visited,

calling to me, “Aloha!" Someday.

Home's also stocked with books, photos,

and knickknacks—memorabilia

of layer upon layer of people and events

which are the woven fiber of me.