Whether the dogs lick your face or not
Whether you have a wife or just a wife shaped loneliness waiting for you
Coming home is terribly lonely
So that you think of the oppressive barometric pressure back where you have just come from with fondness
Because everything is worse once you are home
You think of the vermin clinging to the grass stalks
Long hours on the road… roadside assistance and ice creams
And the peculiar shapes of certain clouds and silences with longing because you didn’t want to return
Coming home is just awful
and the home style silences and clouds contribute to nothing but the general malaise
clouds such as they are are in fact suspect and made from a different material than those you left behind
You yourself were cut from a different cloudy cloth returned Remaindered
Slack in all the wrong spots
The earth’s gravitational pull an effort now re doubled dragging your shoelaces loose
And your shoulders etching deeper the stanza of worry on your forehead
A parched well linked to tomorrow by a frail stand of “Anyway”
You sigh into the onslaught of identical days
One might as well, at a time
The sun goes up and down like a tired whore
The weather immobile like a broken limb
While you just keep getting older
Nothing moves but the shifting tides of salt in your body
You carry your weather with you
You came back with x ray vision
Your eyes have become a hunger
You come home with you mutant gifts to a house of bone
Everything you see now, all of it Bone
-From the movie I’m Thinking of Ending Things, based on the book by Iain Reid. Officially an unpublished poem by Eva H.D
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