Home

The thing I miss when I’m far away,

The place I always want to stay,

The sound that takes me back in time.

Home.

The smell in the street that transports me far,

The pop of a lid fresh off the jar,

The view from the trees that I used to climb.

Home.

The feel of the shower wetting my hair,

The blanket that’s always a little threadbare,

The paths of snails marked by their slime.

Home.

The shelf full of all my things,

The silly songs my mother sings,

The feeling I reach for more overtime.

Home.

The thrum of pain that seizes my heart,

The sadness I feel as my friends part,

The doubt that creeps in, spins my mood on dime.

Home?

Do I know what I’m feeling?

Are my thoughts real?

Yes.

The safety of knowing,

When dark’s all that’s showing,

Someone will tell me ‘Just take your time.’

Home.