“I need to buy land. I want to own a piece of the United States. I want a home.”
Those were the words from a nearby table that gravitated to my ear as I was sitting in a café. The phrases instantly struck my mind, cutting off circulation to all other thoughts at that moment. It made me think about the concept of owning land vs. renting.
As a renter I often think about the concept of “home” and how we create it. I’ve explored this idea in songs and essays, but never in a poem–until now. This poem is in its earliest stage-but I wanted to share it anyway. Who knows, my edits and lengthening may ruin it, so I might as well share it while it’s raw.
Transient
I am the eternal wandering soul
renting the concept of home
and sending the custody check for my floors
to the landlord
I paint the walls with black and white
pictures of my life
temporary tattoos that I constantly reapply
but I tell everyone they’re real
and they don’t believe me
Underneath these pictures
behind the couch
are scars from other wanderers
Who left their “home”
like they would leave their lover
vulnerable
empty
until someone else comes along
to fill the space
and cover the walls
until it gets cold again
too cold to stay
I carry letters
with different street names
and numbers
where I used to sit
and have notes sent to
but I’m gone
before the ink can dry
in anyone’s address book
The land of the free
where I am free of land
Painting imaginary walls of home
that I wipe clean with boxes
and moving tape
Maybe one day in spring
I’ll find a room with a chair
to sit in
and the branches
will push through the windows
and wrap their new sprouts
around each finger
resting buds on my wrist
and when they blossom
I’ll decide to stay
and watch it change to winter
stay for a while
maybe then
maybe.