In a few years, the house I grew up in will be sold or gone.
I have one more year of my childhood left to spend in it
before my life there becomes memories.
I can't imagine my life without this place,
the house with the beige siding and blue roof,
the barn in the backyard with its ceiling caving in,
the old red garage now used for storage,
the newer garage with its radio and tool cabinets,
the painted patio with all the loose crabapples,
the row of flowers just before the front door,
the place where the swing set used to be,
the stump where the willow tree used to be,
the desk where our old nineties computer used to sit,
Halloween and Christmas decorations in the basement,
the plastic skeleton wearing a Canadians hat,
and the pictures on the closet door from years ago,
some before I was born.
Just the thought makes me homesick,
but I'll sit in my new house one day,
a spoon of oatmeal in my hand,
no makeup and only socks on my feet,
and think, 'I'm home.'