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Swift memories took me back home

By Zel HarrisonPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 4 min read
Photo by Rachel Martin on Unsplash

A Boomerang on its axis will return to the sender

At a speed so fast you have to blink

whirling, windward, linear

back to me

A memory

frisbee whirling in space


what a fuuny word

You whip out your phone and take a bunch of quick photographs capturing an unforgettable moment in time

We get together to take pictures of family. The ones closest to you


The sun is shining on just the right angle. One picture is worth thousands of words.

they reflect glimpses of wherever you are

Big smiles or a frown.

Your own

In that space a lifeline, unrecorded

a place for all beginnings.

There was a yearning flooding back to me

and then a small envelope, appeared. It was was so delicate, and it smelled like clover. I quivered when I opened it and I began to cry

melting the dye with tears and

paper patterns appeared

Scratchy words written on paper with a fragile yet steady hand.

Thoughts rendered

Come home it simply said

And I remembered

ten of us in the little house at the end of a dusty street

illuminated by one street sign the flying horse.

The light pulsed the beginning act 1 of the day. To the woman who carved out its wings, in clay. It must have been a real horse but did not fly away.

To the top of the Pegasus sign I climbed scouting my next plot-line

I dreamed of the fun I would have along the way always to return to my little house without curtains at the end of day.

The kitchen table grew many seats as we sat to pray. There was good food warm hands and a fire to warm the fray

My grandma was like the willow tree. She helped mamas birth their children and we called her mama honeybee

Her lap was wide and spreading and soothed us with her words without fretting.

Her stories were just like toast with fresh butter

give me hug

she said without a stutter.

She was the one that didn't scold us for our wrongs. She always offered a life lesson with her songs

She leaned back in her rocking chair with a wide grin and her laughter was strong

I belong

In her glory

My Nanna doula's story,

she helped to bring me to this life with her hands

And my mother was the chorus and brought flowers, poetry, art

and a kitchen spoon band.

Give the children a place to run free

let them play and art their way through all of life

they all said in similarity

The narrative of my birth started with an idea

for a painting

and a collaboration


Colors and broad strokes on canvas was the first of celebration

Then one by one they shared my name. My mother stood on the porch as she proclaimed

Thank You for being born.

pictures of paintings and family art

became the family album

every person and child signed their names.

In a frame, of everyday, we were taught to work it

and it might not be picture perfect.

Rethink it.

Start a new canvas with new tools. And so I did as I embraced life's school

As I reached into my thoughts swiftly, quickly as I became the sender. My thoughts lighted down on places I have called home in countries of the world

unfurled scarves of many colors where lifting higher over dancing people

up and over as we played on cobblestone streets

with little ones running with woven socks and chubby cheeks.

I was the seeker, and my camera became my eyes and ears until the tears of laughter and their stories of sadness and joy became another part of me.

It was a feeling place as every experience and every face brought me to another part of grace.

No lace, or frills just a place to bed down, in my temporary home

and the goodwill sharing was like seedlings growing.

A time for innocence and truth, ruthless youth, and bold steps

toward finding that enigmatic without walls place of being

held and cradled in love

Not so austere that you couldn’t cry or laugh till you peed in your pants. You could hear the words of your favorite people, and yet you understand a new path. No math just the question that seared through you.

Where and what is home?

With the invitation held close

Nanna doula greeted me

With faded eyes that twinkled a special light we talked and laughed about my years of travel, as her fingers traced the people I met, on a montage of pages. She shared her birthing stories and the pains and joy of coming into this world.

Our journey was together

Grandma Doula, where will you go, where will you be?

Grandma doula got very close to me,

with one finger pointed to my chest.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I could hear my heart beat. Closer and closer to home

I will be with you, wherever you are, in your being, the place you call home


About the Creator

Zel Harrison

I travel with a nap sack on my back to gather stories and sit in the circle of humanity.

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insights

  1. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  2. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  3. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

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