house

i stand wilting

among the drenching rain

my hair drooping like

wet moss on a birch tree.

the shiny silver dimes

of my eyes

search my condo building

looming over me like

the bent back of an old man.

the weight of my backpack

pulls on my shoulders

ushering me away from

my urban prison.

with the turn of a boot heel

i let it lead me away,

for a house

isn't always a home.