The Pettit Files~Out behind the house, a dream really
Out behind the house a boy grew to a man. Upon acres of land he constructed his own plans, much larger than the single wide where they started.
Out behind the house, in the trees and through the steams his body changed as season turned a boyish frame into the hands of a man, who would become determined and stubborn.
Out behind the house I shed tears of a man who gave me life but left me only with that, that of the loves lost and growing pains, I talked to the moon and stars on clouded nights, wishing for someone or something to hold me tight. Out behind the house, past the fence into the field the tall grass swayed whispering everything will be alright, then the arms of night grabbed me locking me tight, with the smell of pine and that of my dog I slept like I haven’t for years.
In the yard there was labor everyday of the week, a new day a new task and surely enough we constructed a house, and bid a farewell to the tin can we called home. Out in the hills my words took shape, but only in rhythms they came to me, incomplete sentences a prolifically linking of letters that combined heart and thought that left me wondering and wandering
Out behind the house I spilt blood for my last name, a prideful fist too big for my body, I lost more than I won, but the moments defined me. A fiery soul not afraid to bleed, these cuts will heal and prove me right.
Out behind the house, I gained an identity far from my beginnings. Beneath the sun and moon and in the hours of labor I molded thoughts of unbrokeness into muscle of reality.
Out behind the house past the length of gravel leading the way, an insecure boy unsure of everything around him became bound to his own ideas and let them pull him where they needed. In directions unsought and the beauty of those he thought he would never see, and those he hopes to never see again.
I learned to respect a man, and watch him give more of himself that is rightly possible, far more than that who brought me into this world. It wasn’t a gentle touch, but none other would’ve worked. It was a rough patience, a batter of wills, a rugged worker and the boy who wouldn’t sit still.
Out behind the house I felt death, and learned of time. Tiny crosses of my first loved pets and dreams that didn’t come true. Propelled by the unknown I became comfortable where others weren’t, I learned to savor the sights and tastes, notice the breeze and to feel its sounds, I’m still amazed how it all goes round.
Out beyond the house with a world’s view, in the same grass and dirt. My lines more defined, the hair receded, a bit longer in the tooth. I laid down in the soft grass under a partially starry night, I felt my first dog and saw the resemblance of a scared, adventurous boy, I looked toward the big house but didn’t see it, instead just a tiny hill and in the distance a long silhouette of where I use to lay my head. I felt the fear of all that I didn’t know, felt the warmth of my dog protecting me in the night, I heard the sounds of grass swaying and bumping each other, I could feel the air that’s traveled thousands of miles to reach me, mixed with the lakes and rivers of my youth and all the sights and sounds.
Out behind the house, deep in sleep nearly two thousand miles away, I woke up and wrote this, grateful and tired of where I’ll always call home, the roads will always be mine and the soft subtleness of everything I love will always be romantic and soothe me perfect. There will only ever be one home for me.