Open the door to know who I am;

four walls… a lifetime span.

Red, white and blue reflections that hold a space,

time honored traditions left in place.

Printed writings upon a page,

table strewn with words that never age.

Shoes and socks left where they stopped,

remnants of the day in footprints mopped.

Eyes and smiles in frames covered with glass

captured moments played in the grass.

Unfinished projects that fill a room,

such great ambitions, reach the moon.

Wood and glass held in an ancestor’s hand,

treasured and kept for those who follow time’s drifting sand.

Sticky notes and paper , scribbles on each

pens and pencils, easy to reach.

Vanilla and cinnamon that drift through the air

tea in the microwave, brewed with care.

College transcripts, prayer flag, quotes and more

give way to an identity found at the front door.

 

 

Someone told me once, “If you want to truly know someone, go to their home.  Look around and you will see who they are.”  

Identity