the walk home (poets edition)

 

five p.m.

i’m walking home from a hard days work.

the concrete sidewalks,  i count the blocks, the cracks.

each step quicker than the last, i hurry home.

and as i walk in a hurried pace,  the greyish skies above open up.

one soft drop after another,  quickly follows another.

there,  pulling  the collar from my warm pea coat up around my cooling neck,

then quick  to slide the umbrella open for my shelter in motion.

the lamplight forms a glow as the english mist looms.

sounds of  wet pavement streets grow louder as the cars speed by – also on their way home.

i continue on until i meet home’s wooden gate –

the point where the workday is my past,  behind me i leave it far behind

and greeting the rest of the world that is in front me,  i am.

opening the creaking gate,

i jump over a growing rain puddle,

landing on the mossy covered cobblestone path that leads me to my castle.

i climb the few steps to the porch,

closing my portable shelter,

brushing the wetness off my jacket – meeting the door ahead.

reaching  in my pocket i grab the cold pieces of metal,  picking out the silver skeleton key and slid it into its  own home.

turning  the knob.  pushing the door open –

and there,  my eye first catches  my son playing blocks in the front parlour.

as a big smile comes across his smooth baby face, he gets up and walks shakily over to where i am

standing by holding my pant,  he hugs my leg.

my daughter sitting at her mothers desk,

working ever so diligently on her homework.

without disruption or looking up,  softly says “hey”.

i pick my son up to hug.

i take in a breath and smell the aroma of dinner basking in the surrounding.

drying her hands on her white apron,  she quickly unties it and slips off,  oh my wife.

oh! my wife,

she comes up to me and gives me a loving smile,

kiss me welcome, hug me love.

i set my canvas satchel down, along with my son

and i place the umbrella in the corner,

where the last of the raindrops fall upon the green slated floor below.

in the other corner of the entryway, i hang up my dampened coat on the coat rack .

heading  up stars for my shower,  start untying my tie.

i wash the off the days work,  and scrub off the workdays burden.

my wife knocks at the door and opens it.

and in her soft voice reminds me that i forgot my towel.

i see through the steamed glass as she tries to place the cotton towel on the hook beside the shower door.

i quickly open the glass door and gently grab her elbow,

wet laughter met by a warm embrace of a love that often goes without or forgotten – busy schedules, conflicting times.

quickly and quietly,  the passion brews.

laughing, we both dry off and quickly change into our evening attire of soft flannel pants and a dryer sheet scented t-shirts.

we head down to the dinner table,

i gather the kids as she makes the final preparations to the dinner meal.

we all sit,

all in our proper seating place,

and i smile,  i am.

i smile just watching my wife placing the bib on our youngest.

she catches a glimpse of me watching her, and replies with her beautiful  smile.

we all bow are heads and grace is spoken.

as my daughter speaks of thanksgiving,  i sneak a peek of my family there in the moment.

and in that quick moment,  i saw in slow motion,

a panoramic view of a family.

and in that moment,  i felt it.

simultaneously in my heart, body and mind,  that this is it.

this is what i live for,

this is what every single aspect of my life lives for.

this family, this house, our lives we share together.

working to live,  never living to work.

this is me.  i am.

after dinner, all homework done and the children are all worn out,  we put them to bed.

and we follow suit.

there, we listen to the silence, peaceful and relaxing.

a child-free moment,

soak it in.

i hold her until she falls asleep,

i quietly turn over and turn out the light.

the day has completed,

the crazy circle of  life will start all over again in dawns light

and the walk home awaits for me again.

 

c. 2013, 2014  bgw

About bradford graham west

enjoy poetry about life, emotion and everything in between. it's real and true. - please read and enjoy! - bgw
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2 Responses to the walk home (poets edition)

  1. amy65 says:

    Another beautiful poem…truly inspiring 🙂

    Like

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