Weakened in all the wrong places
The shabby cabin door pops open
The air is heavy with pine and pain
And embraces him like home
The dirty rug welcomes him
And the kitchen table sits dusty
Alone and wishing to host anyone
The mattress sits terrified
On the small bed frame
Tied up with heavy thick knots
And rolled forward to the bed’s end
Bringing to his mind the memories
Of all the ones he has brought here
Begging for freedom
Only to find their way into the ground
Just a few miles from here
Window pane is cracked
And keeps its reflection distorted
Shovels and other tools of his trade
Line dark and splintered walls
While rags lie near the fireplace
Torn and ready to tie
He takes a deep breath
And in that moment
The traveler is home