These Rooms

I don’t mind the musty smells
Or the faded carpets,
worn and aged from a thousand footsteps.

I don’t mind the random assortment of chairs
– Some hard
(vinal, plastic, and cracked)
– Some soft
(faded, yellowed, and sunk-in).

I don’t mind the faces that sometimes come and go
– Some hard
(Drawn, leathery and wizened)
– Some soft
(Dewy, light and wonderous).

All that matters to me
is that you are all here,
And that we sit together,
shoulder to shoulder
Throwing everything we can
At all that we have been through.

The details are all different
But the stories are not new.

They are as old as our bodies remember,
Telomeres cut short
From childhoods turned over,

One

generation

to the next

An umbilical cord that had yet to be cut
Until we arrived here,

In these rooms.