I am still learning about the word “Home”
for it was so illusive to me. It was not
that prim house surrounded by poplars,
guarded by picket fence, a bevy of blossoms
like a woman’s ruffled dress dancing
in the yard. It was not the kitchen
where I traced curlicue flowers
on marbled linoleum or patterns
cut into the high pile rug.
It was not my heart, where I fit people,
pain and pounding passions
into tight gems of holiness held
for quiet times when I am alone
with the sweet sounds of recorded music
of their voices…dear voices..
but not home voices.
I am settling here, in a foreign land,
a stranger to myself in a strange place
of almost knowing what a home holds
but not knowing exactly where it is.
I have moved so many times,
recorded over those sounds,
traded love for loss and loss for love
until what might be home is sorrow.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Hmmm. Good with maple syrp.
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Or Birch syrup...what a delicious discovery that was for me. What a lot of work our ancestors went to for some sweetness. I wanted to amke some but I would have peeled the wallboard off the hosue tryign to boil it down.
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I too feel this one. Have for a very long time.Almost my entire life.The strongest part of this is;"I have moved so many times,
recorded over those sounds,
traded love for loss and loss for love
until what might be home is sorrow".I thought I used to know where it was as the place I myself made it home. But it all feels alien to me now.I think it's the place of anchored support.Where love for each of us resides.Where is that? Hell if I KNOW.~~Suseann
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"the palce of anchored support"...oh yes...that is it exactly......now I have more to think upon.
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