Home

She is the curling beat,

Of a beating heart.

A worn groove,

A cold wall.

The sound of laughter and of tears.

Ugly cries and snorts,

She is a memory,

Touching every surface,

Hiding in the kitchen,

Forgotten in the weeds.

She is the crease of an eye,

The curve of a nose,

The length of a leg.

He is the sturdy strength,

Of muscle and bone.

Standing tall,

He reaches skies,

The shine of a shoe,

Laces undone.

Clothes in the dryer,

Half a smile, stubble and spots.

He is a sound,

The echo of words.

Said and unsaid,

Murmuring.

It is the whisper,

That talks in the night.

The glimpse half seen,

The rain on the roof,

The shoes between walls,

Newspapers uncovered,

Cuttings and snippets,

Of lives left behind.

Fading photos,

Empty frames.

Old spoons.

Lost dolls.

They are family.

They are history.

They are home.