I think I’d like to come back as a house the next go ‘round—
To be cared for, treasured, and adored
Tiny feet coming in and out over every door
To be the backdrop of life—wide-open moments and secret, private events.
Newlyweds trying on Mr. and Mrs.
Roses, hydrangeas, fig trees, and an old olive out backI’m watered, pruned, and admired at
Scrubbed floorboards on Saturday mornings
Babies bornOld bodies restSouls transition to what’s next
Nights kept up in both worry and glee
Furniture carefully sized up to fit just right
Fights that break the silence of the night
Loss and suffering—and a safe place to hide
Yeah, I’d come back as a house…
And host of every party, whether for 50 or just one
A kitchen dark, the fridge light on at midnightA bit of chocolate frosting escapes to the floor—he leaves it for the dog.
The porcelain of a toilet becomes a comforting thronethrough bouts of illness and regrettable takeout
I’d be the backdrop of every breakdown and breakup,the moments of enough is enough.
And he moves out, and she stays put,and the children shut themselves in their rooms.
Pipe bursts, the carpet gets ripped out—I never liked those colors anyway.
Fireplaces once filled with wood, mantles adorned with holiday trims.
A place of firsts and lasts and many a second chance.
Yeah, I think I’d like to come back as a house.
