I am Odysseus-on-land. No knowledge of my homecoming, no augury of its arrival. Sun-skewered on raft-shaped patio slab, sighing at stagnant skies and slack-sail, sweat-sprayed shirt. Unreachable cell phone peals carried on wind that smells like sea and Ithaca.
This is being locked out of my apartment.
Strained pine tree sapling, displaced nest and destroyed bird bloodline. Perilous climb; splinters from rot-flimsy, ornamental plasterboard. Desperate friction opens closed windows, smudges and fingerprints as lockpicks and keys. A tumbling return to throne and kingdom. Pine needles in bed; evergreen mistresses.
This is breaking into my own apartment.
