DS Maolalai πŸ”ˆ

Back Home

a day early – from a trip
you had to take. now back
from the countryside, back
in the city, everything still
where you left it – and
“that’s odd”, you think - but then,
why should it be so? no-one’s
been in – you have no plants
or a goldfish, and anyway,
they wouldn’t have keys.
still though – the moment (pulling
bags from the backseat,
burger wraps, bottles
from the passenger footwell)
when anything could be there –
wild cats and mice making
hell in the kitchen; foxes
or anything else.

but you come in instead
and your coat’s where you left it,
and shoes and a beer glass
you finished of water
right before closing
the door on your bag as it caught
on the doorframe. I suppose
travel changes you – why should
your home stay the same?
like when walking on beaches, just up
by the stony part, a step on the side
of a seashell – seeing the walls
cracking open and sunlight, the curl
of the pearl inner turns.

Author Reading

About the Author

DS Maolalai has been nominated nine times for Best of the Net and seven times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019).