H o m e

Home

To me

Has been

Expanding

And evolving

In meaning

With the passing of days

Like kaleidoscopic bits

Shifting and twirling

In the tide pools of my existence.

As a child,

The place called home

Was frighteningly familiar -

A place to return

Railing and resisting

Between jaunts with gentle alignments

I longed to expand.

Age

And agency

Sent me searching

For that sense of belonging

I had tasted

So infrequently

In my youth.

I set out

First finding

Other shores

With frightening familiarity,

Pausing there

To feel a lover’s touch

Hang a shingle

Or make my bed.

Over time,

With work

And maturity

And privilege

And luck

And perseverance,

Such places have

Lost all appeal.

Instead,

I have collected

all the smooth bits

And fragments

From my journey,

Sorting away

The piercing ones,

Plucking some

From deep within

My own heart

And head

Allowing

Pools of blood to swirl

Around my bare feet

In anticipation.

A place called home

Comes alive in that soft landing space

Between risk

And acceptance.

It’s the perch

And the destination,

It’s shelter

With safe passage.

It’s a solid foundation

Beneath me

And the updraft

Lifting me

To soar

In the sacred knowledge

Of welcoming,

More fully

And completely

A return to

Myself.

Home

Is finding

Me

There

At the end

Again

And again.

New versions

Ever evolving

And coexisting

With older ones

Returning,

Ever returning

Home

To me.