You're Home

I get home late, the dog barks. I try to sneak around my room, but when I open the door to go brush my teeth, he is right there, and he slips into my room and gets comfortable in a pile of laundry. I turn the lights off, curl up in bed, he is still there. He likes to make sure everyone is home and accounted for. Comfort in control. I feel noticed.

The night ran on for longer than expected; I didn't realize how tired I was until I left. I waited on that platform far longer than I should have. Couldn't I have been home by now if I'd just walked? But when that A train finally comes, how soothing is the rocking, how short is the ride. Like an early morning love affair with the snooze button, I consider staying on for a stop longer than I should. Torture to pull myself out of my daze and get off just in time.

Tonight I saw the sun set on tall buildings, saw the Times and the Empire State glitter in the warm August light. By the time I reach my own door, the temperature has dropped at last, the street is painted in yellow leaves. It is beautiful. I'm okay.