POETRY
My Place
DEP Poetry

I followed myself home the other day to see where I lived. Don’t worry. I was crafty. In and out of bushes, I was like a cat creeping.
All the way, I imagined my yard with mango and peach trees, cottontails puttering about, and an ol’ hoot owl hooting.
But my place was a solemn place, my yard a verdant yard, my tree was a fragrant lilac bush with a few blue butterflies fluttering.
I crept to my window and watched to see if I’d put on the kettle, queue up the turntable, light a fire, curl up with a book, or chat with someone invisible.
Instead, the whole place began to fill with light, slowly at first. Not the kind of light you see, but the kind you feel on your skin. And it frightened me, so I ran.
Without looking back, I ran through woods and creeks and bushes and hills. And I passed a lone deer, unbothered by my presence, heading toward my place bounding.
