Vox Populi
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James Crews: Homeless
How do you pack up a whole house,
help your parents haul your toys thrown
in boxes from the liquor store, stuff them
in the back of the car in the middle
of the night because they can’t afford
to pay the rent they owe? Say goodbye
to the ring of tulips at the base of the oak
you planted yourself, small bulbs
nestled in the ground with your own
two hands, amazed each time the red
and yellow cups pushed up from the earth
and opened to collect sweet spring rain.
How you stared out at that empty space
where they would come again next year
as the green Gran Torino with its loud
muffler dragged you away in the darkness
from the only home you had known,
not yet knowing you could carry a place
inside you that no one can touch,
that no misfortune or disaster could
ever disrupt, like a soft hollow in the center
of a nest, where you could huddle
until it was safe to emerge again.
Copyright 2023 James Crews
James Crews is the author of the essay collection, Kindness Will Save the World, and editor of the forthcoming The Wonder of Small Things: Poems of Peace & Renewal. A widely published poet, James lives with his husband in the woods of Southern Vermont.
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My family had a baby blue Gran Torino. I, too, know the pain of leaving things behind and the nest you speak of.
Thank you, James.
It may be my favorite poem now.
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“not yet knowing you could carry a place
inside you that no one can touch” ❤️
A student in my poetry class just read your poem “Awe” out loud this afternoon. Your anthology THE WONDER OF SMALL THINGS is a balm for these times.
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A tender, touching, deeply honest poem indeed.
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Indeed
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The tulips! For me, the orange tree protecting dead pets, the lilacs that would bloom only once before we left, the car filled with what seemed important st the time. I love James’ poetry.
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I love James’s poems as well.
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Love the poem. Love James.
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Me too, Donna.
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Wonderful poem. You captured that feeling perfectly.
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Yes, he did.
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The story of immigrants. People leave home because they HAVE to, not because they WANT to.
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Yes
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I can relate to this. I once had just a carrier bag with some underwear in and with it the clothes I stood up in. As a child, I knew the adults around me were working hard to sort it all out. I picked up a copy of The Dhammapada some years later and read about home being a feeling not a material thing. So this poem feels kindly in its message and true. And parting with my garden was the saddest thing for me, giving up my tortoise to the neighbours, my little flowerbed with the blue misty Nigella.
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Thanks for sharing this moving account, Helen.
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So moving and painful James, thank you
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Yes, it is moving and painful. Thank you!
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This one I save, James! Whew!
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Me too!
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