Your house was always dark.
Gigantic gnarly spruce
arched their backs across your windows.
I never knew what towel to use to dry my hands
or if I should take off my shoes before walking
through your carpeted living room
to where the TV and Sega were.
What’s it like not being able to see the blue
headlines of the People magazines on your table?
Sleeping out under the stars
Afraid of spiders.
Waking up to a wet sleeping bag,
your screen door was only inches away.
I wanted to roll into the living room
and be safe with a bowl of Fruit Loops and a cup of orange juice.
The hedges, our barrier to keep the neighbors out
and to keep our dreams close to our feet,
warm at the bottom of the bag.
I go camping now just to feel that early morning sunlight
and to roll my head slightly awake
as the birds begin their morning prayers.