Trying to find my place

Magnolia tree in from of our house

The way a stranger…

The way a stranger roams around in someone else’s house:

if he’s looking for something, he just  pulls the drawers out one by one,

and if he wants to go anywhere, he just keeps opening the wrong door undone,

he’s scared in the dark from the eyes of

stuffed animals and the portaits of the unknown kinsfolk,

if he eats, he has to look at someone else’s plate of

a refined porcelain, his hand shakes holding the glass of coke,

at night-time he’s startled by the unfamiliar noises –

maybe a mouse in the attic, an owl on the tree, a dog in the yard…

That’s the way I roam around in this strange world:

I want to go home.

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