In my last year of school
we made a shift to higher ground.
Our family was the two of us,
we chose a house on the port hills.
In the company of fruit trees
and a kitchen of polished wood
we became reacquainted.
First my mother changed
the direction of the staircase,
hammered it into shape
and carpeted it smooth,
then she painted each room
lavender blossom, garnet symphony,
peppermint beach and buttercup fool.
Winter was dinner on our laps
sitting close by the fire
summer was breakfast under the plum tree
as it grew shady with leaves.
When she drove me down
to start university
she came back to a full crop
of dark omega plums
and moved the living room
to the front of the house.
© Saradha Koirala from Wit of the staircase (Steele Roberts, 2009)

Enjoyed this poem–the way it manages to combine whimsicality with a greater depth; that sense of change/transition/uneasiness …
I interpret the last image as one of waiting (to welcome back). I like that ending, how consistent it is with the rest of the subtle wordplay in this cohesive poem.
Cheers.