A hundred times I try,
\nand still I cannot enter
\nthe closed chambers of my childhood home.
\nIt is locked in the nautilus
\nof other hearts.
\nIt is boarded up and accepts no visitors.
\nIt tells the story of me and us.
\nBright sister who is a memory
\neverywhere in its rooms.<\/p>\n
Her grave is empty,
\nshe never rested there.
\nThe house holds her and my brothers.
\nThe one who came back in winter
\nand told my father his journey was over.
\nHe had no more dreams,
\nand he is in the house,
\nnow, with my father,
\nwho tends the garden
\nI walk in at night,
\nfeeling it grow and assemble its flowers,
\nand crisp onions,
\nand June roses red as blood.<\/p>\n
And my youngest brother,
\nhe too comes to the door
\nand tells me,
\nspring has opened the trees,
\nand the apples will come back,
\nand he\u2019ll save me some,
\nall in good time,
\nwhen I stop my wandering,
\nand follow the whistles of the trains
\nthat pass in front daily,
\nforever.<\/p>\n
But I know it\u2019s not time.
\nThe house gives me a poem now and then,
\nand the kitchen opens up,
\nand I see the cold black iron
\nof the stove,
\nand wonder,
\nhow many dimensions are there?
\nHow many clocks has the universe wound up,
\nkeeping track of all of us,
\nwhether we sleep or not,
\nor whether we care?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A hundred times I try, and still I cannot enter the closed chambers of my childhood home. It is locked in the nautilus of other…<\/p>\n