the room is the entrance to a home. hundreds of feet have run through the doorway in a blur of joy. now it is the portal to what is essentially a hospital room. there is an automated bed and recliner. a breathing machine is stashed under a side table. another table holds medications, sodas, cloths and silly little trinkets and games to occupy the mind. there are visitors and calls to check in and constant questions and offers to help, to comfort. feet pass through at a slow safe pace so as not to upset or fuss. the world comes inside that room for a few hours at a time, but it must always leave and go back home. we here are already home. in the place with the hospital entrance. where can we go back to?
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