Poetry and Prose

Where is my home?

Will I know it when I see it?

Will it welcome me back?

The nostalgia, the comfort, and that smell…

When I get there, how will I know?

Is it where my mother lives?

Where I hang my hats?

What language does it speak?

I’m homesick…

For the idea of “home”

Heights charted on the wall

Family pictures, memories of a broken arm.

I long for that place.

But it lives many lives,

in many memories of different places.


Nowhere is home, yet everywhere is.

It is ithe familiar smells in an unknown town.

That same old stray dog.

Getting lost.

Finding my new favorite spot.

Home is not just a place.

I carry it with me,

It’s the tiny pieces I pick up a long the way,

it has taken a lifetime to build.

Home is where the heart is.

I am home.


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