*in the style of “Heaven, Hell, and Holding Places”*
We are driving
on some random road that weaves
from Pennsylvania to Delaware
until we are on our way home.
And I’m staring
up some abandoned hill
with the outlines of a
foundation
with wooden beams
kept company
by crows.
And like birds on a line,
they stare down at passersby,
and I wonder why,
someone left
this skeleton of a shelter
abandoned;
that their future is now
“for the birds”
and yes, that line is a
play on words,
of course.
Because we never think of those
without homes.
Those who take the road
with burdens on their back
but hearts with wings
and dreams out of reach perched on some
split wire,
skeleton of a spark.
Tell me now,
what do we do about these people in the dark?
Tell me if the love we are looking for
will ever find its
intended mark:
our (your/my) heart.
Tell me if love
can be found in a place
where care was once put into
but never finished;
If traces of a home
can stand
on love alone?
Tell me
about the
homeless
and the hopeless
and if they are truly
one and the same;
if that murder of crows
knows something we don’t,
if that hill is only abandoned
because we refused to climb it,
if our hearts are hollow
because we are afraid of having
something
someone else
inhabit them.
And we roll on by,
headed back to Jersey
to the safety of a brick building,
covered in panelling,
telling ourselves
we find homes in other things,
other people,
and call it by the name of
“family”.
Say “love”
is just another term
for “security”.
And I realize the foundation was
never really abandoned,
because though the owners had left,
that murder,
that family,
those crows still
kept the skeleton up on the hill
company.
“Home” is wherever we aren’t lonely.
Writer.Reader.Thinker.Dreamer. 
I love the depth and reflection of this poem, so many questions that need asked but seldom are. I particularly love “if love can be found in a place where care was once put into but never finished” and you reflection of how we often times mistake the truth of love for things like “security” and “comfort.”
I also am curious what you see love to be, beyond security, and how you truly let someone in to learn to love them. How do you let someone call your innermost person “home?” Again, wonderful, wonderful poem. Blessings.
I think love is pure acceptance of someone else for who they are. I grew up in a religious household and at a religious school and we never stressed enough that you should “hate the sin, love the sinner”. I’m not saying I agree with all of my friends lifestyles, but accepting them for who they want to be, the type of people they are, though not necessarily “religious”, are good people, people who would drop things at the blink of an eye if I needed them. Those people constantly show me love because they have also taken all that I am, flawed yet faithful, and accepted it.
I used to think people could be homes, and to some extent, I still believe that. But I think “home” is a safe place, a place where you feel instantly at peace and whether that be with a person or in a building or outdoors for that matter, whether it be a song or a book that gets you like nothing else ever did before, that, to me, is a form of having a “home”; a net that will hold you no matter how fast or hard you fall.
So in a sense, yes, “home’ to be is security, but it is also that love, that pure acceptance to just “be”.
Not everybody has that, and regardless of there being a roof over your head, in that way, I think when can be “home-less”.
But not hopeless.
No, because love AND acceptance are out there.
I promise.
This was a very lengthy response, but I enjoyed answering (hopefully I DID answer) your questions.
Thanks again for the read and sharing of your comments,
Gabby