Storm Drain

It was one of those grey drizzly days.

I was being driven to college by an old family friend
for the start my college career.

I stared out the window,
eyes almost unfocused,
and considered the grey world around me.

Passing Arden, there was a storm drain,
receiving the collected rain.

In that moment, I realized…

I was leaving home—forever.

O there would be visits and summers
and time spent with family…
But with this trip my life would be…
  elsewhere.

College, the Army, travel, marriage and jobs.
I’ve lived in eleven different places
  in my first ten years as an adult.
I brought my son up,
  in one house that we call home.

Over thirty years in the same place,
  and that storm drain is still burned into my memory.

Whenever I pass through the area,
I leave the expressway,
and take the circuitous route
to pass that storm drain
before continuing on my pilgrimage through life.

Many years ago they widened the road
  and built a new house.
The storm drain is gone;
  but the place still has the same resonance.

It has been many years and I can’t tell you why
that storm drain means so much—
  and so little—
particularly as it doesn’t even exist anymore—
though I can guess.

Through all my life,
  that one place,
    that one moment in time—
      is where I left home.