Home Visit

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Saint-Gaudens National Historic Site

Home Visit

In the sunlight the children rotate in the soundless collisions beyond the rented

               

                structures

               

                                into an infinite system of undecipherable signs.

               

                                                                                                                Juan Felipe Herrera

                At what moment do we know

                                (or do we even know?)

                                that we’ve traded places

                                with them?  The children we are to the deceivers
                                we need
                                to be?

One day we hide and our game

                changes and they

                                                (our own kids

                                                                now)

hide from us—though haven’t we!

                sworn!

                                To!         Never!                  Be!                         Like!

                                                                THEM!

Our mothers and fathers

                and then suddenly we are or we come to know we are

                whatever comes

                next.

Remember back then when we took

                                                to the trees

                                                when the state lady came

                to place us away

                or at least

                that’s what we were saying

                to each other while we ran away

                you were thirteen

                through the place we kept

                                (ten years gone even then)

                                the cow, and it was all swamp

                                and I got my good pants soaked

                                and you did too

                                                                and

                                there’d be some explaining  to do

                                                                and we looked out

                                                                                                                                from where we hid

and watched her

                                                knock on the door

                                                                KNOCK!

                                we watched while she waited

                                                clipboard on her hip

                                                like she was some waitress

                                                taking

our order

                                and opening and closing

                                                her going in

and weren’t we glad then

                                Mum was sober

                                                                that day

                                the laundry done the floors washed where the cats had missed or ignored the box

and it was almost

                                                (though we’d only know later)

                                                                over for us there.

But it was clean.  It was someone tipping her off

that day

maybe while we sat in math class

and took a quiz we couldn’t so distracted

But anyway it’s like this:

                                                                How driving later, when you’re grown, you lean to change the station

                                                                and looking away can’t see

                                                                the guy on the bike

                                                                and you look up just in time to cut

                                                                the wheel and the lane coming

                                                                your way is clear thank God

                                                                near the blind

                                                                curve

and it was like this almost being nearly taken

                                                                                                away

                                they’d’ve called it rescued, they’d’ve called it foster, they’d’ve called it placement

                                                                where your boy went once and then most

                                                                of his life

               

                                                but then, remember, remember back then

                                                                                how we don’t take it

                                                                                like a punk

                                                                                how we look out

                                                                                from the ledges

                                                                                and walk back up the lane

                                                                                                toward home

                                                                and open the door

                                                                after the state lady leaves

                                                                and is gone to the next home

                                and we stand straight

                                                remember we stood straight like

                                                being

                                                accused

and all she said, cracking the beer,

                                                                                you little bitch

                                                                                you little bastard