Those Two / This One

Who are they?
Those two
who after all
this time
are still two.
They snatched me
from an incubated cloud
plugged into the arms
of Emmanuel General
and lay me down to
weep in tiny
Hawthorne house.
Because I am here
is this where I belong?
When the dreaming thread
is lost
I find myself sitting
in highbacked chair
briefly unrecognized
by my china cabinet tarnished
reflection.
A newspaper breakfast table
in Orchards, Washington.
Because I am here
this is where they belong.
Home has never been home
for me.
I am the stray dog stayed too long.
Who were those two
who screamed and cried
across the hall,
introducing a little boy
to the dark end of everything?
I'm not the only one
who is moving through
the walls of the green house
on 86th Ave NE from
the visible to forgotten.
Those two and these four.
But I won't be able to feel
or remember anything
except
this one.
This one stands outside
looking at the tall tree
that was snatched from
Mrs. Granpre's 3rd grade classroom,
freed from choking
black bucket embrace
and placed in the yard.
Because it's here
this is where it belongs.
This one has already done
what this one was put here to do.
This one and those two.