Go Home

If you've found yourself out in the hustle and bustle again,
and your new boots now have a scuff in 'em
that can never be buffed or erased,
but the ones that rustle in your shiny new bag
really have no place in your home.
And you know they surely won't fit in your closet
- but you deal with the whirling cars and lights
and strange smells and passive aggressive fights
and at that moment all signs read "you have to have it, it's your right."
But you don't.
So just go home.

Do you remember your stool at grandma's house?
The one she'd pull out
so your little arms could knead the dough
and line the pan
and keep you out of harm and close to gram?
That happened for a reason.
So why are you out eating at a place with an invisible chef
and the food on the menu magically appears
and in seconds it's in you?
Carry those fond memories in a paper bag,
get enough for more than one day
and lay them out.
Keep handy a rag
just in case you too have an extra set of little hands
propped up on a stool
reaching for the sink to be cleaned.
Home is beckoning.

"But," you say, "I don't know how to make it just right,
which way to place the sink and cabinets and colors of stain.
Which floors and faucets and fixtures?
It all seems like such a pain."
Until that day
when your groceries are put away,
and your counters get center stage
for that pie you actually enjoyed to bake.
And your friends stand and talk
- and they stay.
And your kitchen finds it's rhythm as the heart of your place.

And the next time the impulse to run out for sandals or boots, or a burger, or a bagel,
take it slow and make sure to keep your keys in your kitchen right next to your phone.
You'll smile as you say,
"I have what I want, nothing more
 - I'll just stay home."


Jordan R Shaver 02.27.2014