Guardian
I confront you first as I walk into my house.
Ashamed to confess my sins,
eager to boast my accomplishments.
I rehearse my speech to you as I pace your foundation.
You—gave me strength to face my family.
My parents’ hover
over you—
Standing s t i l l.
Watching
my baby sister and I grow
into young ladies.
Setting us free—
but resisting the urge
to not let us go.
Driving away with friends
and boys.
Boys—
their long shuffle up to the door
across your stone.
You’ve even tripped one,
forcing
him
to
fall
on
his
face.
Inscribing your
forewarning
on his fleshy wounds.
My dad’s personal assistant,
doing all of his dirty work.
An outlet for him to reveal
his protective nature
while hiding behind
his welcoming exterior.
Your long narrowing path
along the driveway hails
friends, neighbors, and family
into our home.
You give us peace,
a place to rest.
Countless warm summer evenings—
Mom sipping her wine,
enjoying the sunset and the company.
Knowing that we’re all together
on the front porch.
-Justine Albaugh
