On Coming Home

Same same, but different
Yesterday your fingers recalled
How it felt to play Christmas songs
On the piano with a rattling F key–
The piano which is rightfully yours,
Except for as much as you miss it
You still have no space in your house.

The day before, your feet stayed warm
Inside boots two sizes too big.
You found them in a dusty box in the basement,
The basement which is also full, incidentally,
Of everything you’ve forgotten
But might need, someday.

Today you sat by a Christmas tree
And opened a gift from your parents:
A Nativity scene
Which looks like a miniature of the one you used to unpack–
Each year looking for a fragile baby Jesus
Hidden inside old newspapers.

Last week, coming home had different expectations
You had planned on divesting yourself
Of accomplishments and stories,
Then leaving with a lightened load.
How could you forget?
They fill your suitcase every time
Until the zippers fear bursting.