Home Was Never Just a Place

His footsteps shuffling softly

Through those first sunlight rays

That cascade through the steam of coffee

Onto the wooden bookcase.

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Home was never just a place.

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Her chubby hand wrapped inside mine,

As her toddler hair left untamed

Falls on my shoulder the night

We investigated if Santa came.

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Home was never just a place.

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The sweet aroma of cinnamon baking

Mixed with the smell of those new old books

We picked out at a fair in the city

When we left our phones so we could look

Distraction free at the ancient stories

And wisdom told from those “average”

People who turned out to be history’s

Heroes because they stood against the grain.

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Home was never just a place.

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The old Ivory laughing loudly

As she tickled the piano-forte at midnight.

Her fingers don’t know how to do it softly

Even if Chopin disagrees—she was playing it right.

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Home was never just a place.

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My conversation with you

In my heart on an average day.

Your soft words ignite simple truth.

Our friendship is the only way I know how to pray.

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Home was never just a place.

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The four of us around a table

Debriefing, encouraging and inspiring

Each other in these moments of stable

Friendship (and of course some coffee).

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Home was never just a place.

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Accepting where I am now.

Settled into my body and dreams

While still keeping my eyes down

The road, always growing like a tree

Planted by rich rushing streams.

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Home was never just a place.

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The burning scent of leaves in their final days

As they fall like a fiery rain

On my cold skin as I rush

Home to my family’s sweet touch.

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Home was never just a place.

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These scattered pieces of my life

Weave together like a priceless mosaic.

They shine onto my soul like a bright light

That always leads me back home.