I want to go home

I scrape my hand unbolting the front door,

I always do this.

It’s early. The sun peeks over the hill,

Where it always does.

The air is cool, smells like grass and the sea.

Close my eyes and breathe.

Dew soaks my bare feet as I cross the lawn.

You lived just next door.

The flower bed is a bit overgrown.

Bees don’t seem to mind.

Key in. The door sticks, like it always did.

Kick my shoes off.

You notice the smell first. Smell of decay,

Instead of nettle soup.

Instead of the dining table, set for everyone,

There’s a stained arm chair,

That lifts forward when you press the button.

Instead of my gran,

There is nothing.

Instead of my grandpa,

There is nothing.

I leave the old house.

The air feels the same, the grass feels the same,

Sun in the same spot,

But I want to go home.