Home

Laundry, in piles of darks, lights.  The AC competes with the constant warm hum of the dryer.

The cat, alone these past three weeks, does figure eights around our legs, meowing indignantly.  Liam goes after her, giggling.  She meanders away (he is very slow).

The boys descend upon the toys they’d left behind.   We sort the mess.  Socks back in the sock drawer, shampoo back in the shower, toothbrush in the small ceramic cup on the edge of the sink.  I take down the Easter decorations, finally.

Jack combs my hair with a blue plastic Play-Doh knife, and recites lines from the movies he watched in the car yesterday during our long drive.  Liam toddles everywhere, never resting, the house a whole new scene from his new upright perspective.

A summer afternoon thunderstorm.  Virgil hides under my feet.  All four of my dependents, like little satellites, orbit around me as I move through the house, making it home again.

It smells musty, so I throw open a window.