Home,
near and far
hand-in-hand.
*
Home,
where we made it.
No matter where life led
or what we packed.
*
Each destination distinctive,
just like the pictures on those
orange and white moving vans.
*
One a moose,
another a turtle,
even a zebra, once.
*
The memories attempting
to blur together
like the scenery outside
a rolled down window.
*
Or the rolled up one
I once smashed
my face into,
thinking it was down.
Leaving embarrassment along
with a cheek imprint.
*
My sister’s laughter still
echoes with every retelling.
A memory,
I wish could be lost
like that box we're sure
had been packed.
*
Home,
finally became
a definitive spot.
A mark on a map.
A fixed address.
Where the hands I held
as mine grew,
even now reside.
*
But now another map has unfolded.
Another ‘x’ marks the spot where
two sets of tiny hands,
had fit within my grown ones.
*
Hands I love,
not born of me.
Hands that made me
feel at home.
*
Hands now too far
to hold.
The distance
in our hand-prints
now outpace the kilometres
that lay between us.
*
Home,
near and far
hand-in-hand
is wherever you are.
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