time to go home

I've been on the road
for so long now, I don't remember
where home is,
or what it's like.
my memory is vague.
who lived there?
was there a dog,
a cat,
a wife?
where did I sleep
or eat,
or write.
are my clothes still
where I left
them
some in the closet,
others tossed in the air.
shoes under the bed.
are there dishes
still in the sink.
dust must be everywhere.
the grass long.
the weeds and vines having
their way.
did I leave a light on?
the stove,
an iron?
are my neighbors wondering
where I've gone?
I imagine
the plants are dead
and the mail is stacked
up
coming through the slot
and dropped
to the floor.
I've been on the road for
so long now.
it's time to go home.