soft

there comes a time when another

notch on the doorpost

bleeds darker than faded childhood,

and what doesn't kill you

makes for some pretty strong wood

laid across the screen door,

that blew open with gusto--

then banging a little

too often.

they leave the house

with warm goodbyes

i heard before they came.

though now the seats are warm

and the couch still soft,

until time cools and darkness passes.

my spine is stiff

from a sinking mattress,

pushed down when i slept

on the couch.

and character is no sheet

warmer than fat,

holding tight

in all the right places.

maybe that's why i run,

away

and back again

my heart beating my heart

into shape.

rending faith

in myself,

until they all return--

goodbyes through the door.

above my mark

i invite them in,

offering a spot on the couch.