Finding Home

News delivered
painfully by a friend
that she is facing immediate eviction
sends me down the trail & into my thoughts.

Where is home? I ask,
over and over again.

This samara — this winged seed
on pavement doesn’t know.
This samara in the palm
of my hand now on the ground
beneath me knows.

When I told her about the homeless man
living under the bridge
she was concerned for him
immediately, asked me to show her
where. We walked down
this trail. Before we reached the stanchions
we slowed. He was away —
I showed her where he slept
just off the trail in a sleeping bag
stretched out over thinnest cardboard.
She had me accept a bag of clothes, socks,
and food for him — and made me promise
that I would deliver the bag to him
the following day.

Where is home? I ask,
over and over again.

This man — sleeping fitfully
in sleeping bag on cardboard
stretched out over compressed, hard ground
doesn’t know.

Can you help me out? He asks,
over and over again.

Yes, again and again.

Where is home? I ask,
over and over again.

He doesn’t know. She doesn’t know.

I don’t know.

Andrew Shattuck McBride
PaPoWriMo ~ 2012 *Day Nine Poem*
October 4, 2012