Home for the Holidays
By Britnie Jenkins
Now a guest in the place most familiar to me,
It seems that despite my age
Until my life shifts, I reside between two planes of existence.
Regardless of my salaried job or my mortgage payments,
I can’t seem to shed my 16-year-old skin,
The one who didn’t put dishes away,
Who left a trail of undone chores in her wake.
Six years removed has me reaching for a cup,
Only to find a plate in its place.
Back to visit, not back forever,
But the expectations that greet me
Don’t align with the duration of my stay.
Peter Pan in their eyes, unable to grow up,
I feel like I’ve moved back in.
Is that what they’re waiting for?
But I so desperately want to leave Neverland.