Familiarity is a Cycle

You can't name the number of times you've gone down your home road.

.

You can't name the number of times you've gone down your home road

Because there's no way you can guess what number you should start on

.

Unless you were obsessive enough to start counting the first drive down

.

And if you were old enough to remember the first time you drove down.

.

Going home

.

Home,

your home

Not your parents' home.

.

You're home where you feel the air encasing you and trapping you in a safe bubble

No harm to reach you,

No bad weather to scratch you.

.

Home where you sleep

Knowing that any crack, bang, or thump

Gets sliced and analyzed by someone else.

.

You never have to count how many times

Cracks creak,

Bangs hit the doors,

Or the thumps that sound from appliances settling.

.

Never have to familiarize yourself

Between what is a normal sound

And what is A sound

that makes your heart drop.

.

Our parents miss the days,

The times when they could sleep all night

Where our grandparents,

Their parents

Stay up to count

The Cracks, bangs, and thumps

.

Miss the days when they could drive

Go home down the road,

And not have to count how many times they drove

Down the road.

.

The moment the house became your home,

They started to count.

.

Count until the day you count your own trips home.