Those stories took me far away
from the empty homes I lived in.
Words on paper more real to me
than any dream of real life could be.
Get used to a space they called home,
watch the children playing ball,
feel some hope in the kaleidoscope,
just waiting for some white knight’s call.
Mom and Dad through a telescope,
in the room, but never close.
I’m too old for that kiss good night.
Close the door, turn out the light.
Always so far away from home,
not even anyone’s name to know.
No lap to hold my worried head.
No heart to share my own.
Always on the outside, looking in.
Searching every window for a friend.
Just seeing, reflected, me, again,
Knowing wandering never ends.
©2004 Joanne Sprott
This is such a soft and tender poem, Joanne.
This is so touching and beautiful...It felt so real, so personal. Thank you for posting this