Home for a Hat

Everyone's heart breaks some time, then we try hard to leave it behind somewhere, as if we'll stroll along &, one day, we'll come upon a thicket where we can hang the bones of a memory that lived not too long ago.

But, really, sometimes you love so much, that you can never really put them anywhere else but where they are. So, you make it a home where it hangs its hat & so you go along forever, passing it on your way out to work & life, & it collects dust & memories.

Sometimes

you look at it a little longer, maybe run your finger over the brim & it sings back some struggling melody with notes that attempt to conjure up some life.

Other times, the bones rattle at you when the wind blows a little harder & your bones get cold too, & then you get warm by the fire with the bones hanging in the back, hat snuggly on its hook;

not really at home

but not ever really not.