Home

When I was young, I learned that people leave,

And the houses I lived in could leave too.

When my friends said “home”, they knew they would stay,

But I knew I would have to go away,

And wave goodbye to homes that were no longer mine.

At first I would hate each new place, each house,

But, eventually, it grew on me.

I would make friends, fall in love with the streets

And the trees that grew on the sides of them,

Right in time to pack up and leave again.

I still miss the window in the pink room

In the house where I had my own bathroom.

I liked the green carpet and banisters

In the house where I had the attic room,

And the ghosts in the house with painted clouds.

The woods near the house on the naval base

Made an excellent meeting place for friends.

I think I had the most there. I miss them,

And rushing through homework to run outside,

Ready to go on our big adventures.

Places fall behind, and people do too.

Friends promised to call every day and write,

But I guess that the pen was too heavy,

Or they forgot my telephone number.

Because their voices became memories.

Houses can fall apart and behind, so

I built small homes in the hearts of others,

Hoping that I would be allowed to stay.

But I’ve been evicted too many times

To hope that anything is forever.

People will leave one way or another,

Usually through no fault of their own.

They can’t be there forever and always.

Our small, human lives are impermanent,

We are rooted in mutability.

Maybe that is why I buy the bruised fruit,

The lonely stuffed animal with a rip,

The tattered book at the back of the shelf,

The dying plants with colorful sale tags,

Because I’m worried they won’t find a home.

Maybe that is why I keep so many

Animals and plants, to give them a home.

I offer love to all - the dog, the plants,

And the herd of four squeaky guinea pigs.

As long as I live, they will have a home.

When I walk by myself, alone at night,

My mind wanders back to homes I once had,

And my heart aches for the friend whose mom died,

But I didn’t know the right words to say,

So I said nothing. Bags packed. Moving day.

I remember what it felt like to love

And be loved by so many who are gone.

Homes decay as lives pass on. Remember

The smells of a loved one’s house? But they’re gone

And you can never go back to that home.

Sometimes, I will see or smell, touch or taste,

Something that brings a memory to mind,

A comforting place or presence flies by,

Loving and warm for a moment, then gone,

And I forget the home that I’m missing.

While the stories of loved ones may live on,

Phantom memories are hardly solid

And don’t make a very good foundation

On which to build a safe place for a heart.

That is what a home should be - a safe place.

When the people, places, and memories

Cannot make a home for a lonely heart,

Where is it to turn? What are we left with?

Physical things like humans and houses

Are ephemeral, taken by the breeze.

When the external world is too flighty,

What can one do besides take a look in?

What is to stop us from falling in love

With people of now, the beat of our hearts,

And the way we think and feel, laugh and cry?

Build a home in your very own heart,

With a foundation of love and kindness

For both yourself and the world around you,

With many big doors to let others in,

And windows looking deep into your soul.

Hang lots of picture frames with memories,

And let friends come and go, for those who care

Are the ones who will come back to visit.

Decorate your home however you will

With trinkets and art that means something to you.

Build a home worth living in, safe and warm,

One that lets your mind roam happy and free,

And lets your heart love whomever it will.

Rebuild, modify whenever you need,

Because time changes us, and so do we.

Now look at your home, look at what you’ve built.

See how safe and inviting it can be

When you remember to love yourself too.

For in this world, the one home you will have,

Always and forever, is simply you.