Pilgrimage

There's the house
That looked prettier last summer.
There's the field
Lush and green
It strikes fear into my stomach.
The old, old house
That I saw and quietly loved.
Some things never change.
And the old barn on the corner.
 The one they wouldn't let them
Tear down.
There are houses now.
The elementary school.
Little blonde girl, balls,
Soccer and a weak ankle,
And swings.
Next street on the right,
Second house down on the left.
It's ugly.
But the beauty that lives inside
Is anything but.
I almost missed the turn.
Do you remember?
They had to carry him.
We parked here.
A picnic and kids on the court.
But they left.
It was the three of us and the sky.
I climbed inside the beehive.
I looked for your handprint on the tile.
Here, you said.
Innocence preserved in paint.
But I didn't say that's what I was doing.
The last time I came here was
When we played with the noodles.
Me too
But I don't really care about the noodles.
Just the soul holding them.