Home

Home.

Home is a wafting of flavors.

A tasting of scents.

A listening of colors and a vision of sound.

Home is the whole package.

The package on my doorstep that arrived

just in time

containing my favorite items

on the perfect sunny day.

Home is fresh fruit and fresh flowers

coupled with the smell of lavender cleaning products

and my favorite fabric softener.

Home is the perfect ratio of ice to cola in my glass.

It is the breeze from the open patio door

ruffling the curtains and

flowing across my shoulder

while I nap

in a safe spot.

Home is the flattering dress that was marked down from

two hundred dollars

to thirty.

It is the gleam in my infant’s eyes as she admires the air

and the suspense in her expression

while appreciating the orchestra

played by her moving fingers.

My home is not my castle.

It is not where my heart is.

No, no.

My home houses my essence.

It connects my heart to a spot deep inside the center of the earth

and renders the tornado swirling outside to be null and void.

Home caresses my insecurities,

calming them so they can sleep,

allowing each one to be rejuvenated for another day of combat.

Home drenches my heartaches in soft, fresh rainwater

leaving them one-by-one shiningly clean

and pleasingly aromatic.

Home devours each of my fears,

blowing them out of its mouth

as a poof of glitter,

sparkling in the sunlight.

My home can’t be taken away from me by hook or by crook

or in good times or in bad.

Though sometimes I long for it

after it hides

or scurries away under the couch

or packs itself in a cardboard box

in the back of the closet.

And I’m left wondering where it has gone this time.

In those moments I must stand still.

In solitude.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Close your eyes.

Feel your feet on the ground.

Clear your mind.

Hmm.

Oh! There you are Home.

I see you now.

Jump in, let’s go!

We have work to do.