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Honesdale, Pennsylvania This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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There is a house tucked away in a shrinking wood
My last footprints there are three sizes too small
I would go back there, if I could

It was snow and wind, I drew up my hood
But the dinners were warm, carpets cushioned my falls
There is still that house tucked in a shrinking wood

Christmas dusted our lips with a savory soot
We romped until our names were called
I would go back there, if I thought I could

The rejection came quickly, I don't recall as I should
The packing of bags, we were strangers in the hall
Leaving the house tucked in the shrinking wood

We were driving away, eyes wet, mother said, “Good morning, baby. Soon you will understand it all.”
I would go back to that moment if my memory could

I wish I could write as if I understood
But that Christmas is kept crumpled up in a ball
Though there is still a house tucked in a shrinking wood
I would not go back there, even if I could

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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