Place

So here’s the setting: / we open on a scene where it’s me in the middle of a field carrying tools and knotty pine boards / and every time I try to build a house, each part I put up is taken down by a different character from my life— / a floor is dismantled by my aunt / a door is knocked down by my fourth-grade teacher / an attic is axed by an ex-lover— / and I wonder how I was able to build an attic without some solid walls first / and everything comes crashing down / and it’s like the ship of Theseus as I try to rebuild and replace / but there was never any ship to begin with / and I ask you—Dear Reader—for help / and all of our fourth walls start breaking / and we cut to a scene where I try to create a perimeter to keep everyone out / and it’s like that Frost line Good fences make good neighbors / except the fences are not fences but a ring of neighbors themselves tearing the fences down / and they are not good neighbors / but it’s not like that at all / and it’s even less like that because it’s me tearing down my own fences the whole time / and I am not a good neighbor / but there were never ever fences and never a home to build a fence around / and we cut to a scene where I’m getting gift-shop magnets sent from friends and family on their vacations from all their distant destinations / and I’m putting them on my fridge even while my house is disappearing one piece at a time / and now in the middle of a field there’s just my fridge with magnets and me / but there’s a metaphor there I can live in— I think—even if, like Stein said, There’s no there there / and there are places that aren’t mine that I try to take home / and there are places that aren’t mine that I try to make my own / and it’s like what Wolfe wrote: You can’t go home again / except I was never there to begin with / and all my magnets slowly slide down and fail to hold things up / and the magnets can’t even hold themselves up / and the metaphor extends / and I think about living inside the fridge itself at this point if only I can fit / and if only it would hold me / because home has to be where you’re held / and I’m never home / and you’re never home / and God we’re never ever home—

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Aaron Sandberg has appeared in McSweeney’s, Maudlin House, Rust & Moth, The Offing, Asimov’s, Phoebe, Lost Balloon, Flash Frog, Phantom Kangaroo, and elsewhere. He’s a multiple Best Microfiction winner (2024) and a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Dwarf Stars nominee. Find him—and his writing—on Instagram @aarondsandberg.