Nearly a year now
into our latest
new beginning.
Forty-five years,
eight homes,
(ten, if you count the rentals)
all of them perfect, except
for our remodeling addiction.
We swore we’d
never do it again,
live under reconstruction,
but this is our Forever Home,
last step in our journey,
the toes-up place,
end-of-the-line,
a little noise and dust
(okay, a lot of noise and dust)
justified for this one,
our alpha and omega stop.
There are mountains to the east,
where the mornings begin,
an ocean not too far west,
sucking up the sun,
declaring each day’s end.
New neighbors coming around,
cookies and potted plants in hand,
surely as nice
as the ones we left behind,
again and again.
I’m getting close to seventy,
my sweetie awaits her Medicare card.
This really might be it,
the last station,
except, perhaps,
the old folks home.
Who knows?
The work’s almost done.
We went to an open house last week…
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