As a teen, little felt as delicious to me
as housesitting for neighbors. Serving up tuna
on white bread on a plate not mine,
as if it were mine, in a bright kitchen
onlooking a garden. Lifting a
glass of iced tea from its ring
of condensation on the bedside table
as I lounged under unfamiliar-smelling sheets,
hoping someday to have sheets of my own
scented with sandalwood and sage. A large
pillowy bed and a closet of clothes
no one else owned. At night, I savored walking
through curtain-pulled rooms, lit softly
by a lamp or two, nesting on a couch under
a stream of lamplight to write a poem,
always imagining a companion beside me.
How little then did I know deliciousness
requires solitude? Banking my own fire,
hearing my own voice. The me-ness of home
makes it delicious; the way
my house says ‘Welcome back, child,’
every time I enter therein.
Tricia Gates Brown’s poetry has appeared in Timberline Review, ANTAE Journal, and Yellow Arrow Journal, among other publications, and her first poetry collection Of A Certain Age is forthcoming from Fernwood Press in early 2026. By trade, she is an editor and co-writer, mainly working for the National Park Service and Native tribes. Her debut novel Wren won a 2022 Independent Publishers Award Bronze Medal. For fun, she makes art.