Listening to ketchum ID on the last night of summer

Meg Poulos

The billowy white duvet softens under my weight; 

she’s been with me through it all. 

Faintly, I hear three voices whispering to me: 

“When I’m home, I’m never there 

long enough to know.” 

I gather myself up and look over everything again. 

A little bit of my heart will always live in this room. 

Live in 

the teenage girl moving furniture in the middle of the night to feel in control.

the stacks of books that grow and grow. 

the trinkets and postcards surrounding my mirror. 

the wall of baby pictures of me and my brother that my mom stares at every time she walks in. 

Still, I know, my heart has other places it’s searching for, 

Other places it wants 

to belong to. 

to grow roots. 

And I can’t help but follow it wherever it should take me.