On the good days, home is a refuge
A place where we sow seeds
Where we cultivate life
Where we grow and fall and stretch and push
Where we ripen and rise
And cede what rots
A place where we nourish one another
Where we measure and mix and simmer and stir
Where we fill our bellies and slake our thirst
Where we create our own medicines, immersed
In recalled comforts of the wild
A place where we rest
Where we take shelter
Where we build fires as winter brews
And stay dry amid summer storms
Our refuge and our respite
On the bad days, it’s a trap
A place without peace
Where the floor shifts beneath my feet
Where the walls close in
And I find myself repeatedly
Picking up the pieces
A place where I mourn
What could have been
Where the unspoken is suffocating
And I simply wait for the darkness to give way
To morning
A place where I want to give up
And chastise myself for instead
Giving in
But even on the worst days
It’s the place where I’m needed
Where I’ll listen for your cries any hour of the day
Where I’ll sit with you
Read with you
Play with you
Sing to you
As if you’re all I know
Home is the world we create
The foundation we lay with
Our breath and our bodies
The scaffolding of our intentions
Each day building on the last
About the Creator
Aleta Davis
Policy analyst, mother, and aspiring gardener trying a hand at short fiction. On twitter @aleta_rose.
Keep reading
More stories from Aleta Davis and writers in Poets and other communities.
Tales of the Aurora Borealis
Who knew a solar storm could be so beautiful? Purples, reds, and greens shimmering in our skies like dancing ribbons. Hypnotic and enchanting, the Northern Lights have had us humans in complete awe for centuries. Which got me thinking, what did our ancestors think of the Aurora Borealis?
By Rosie J. Sargent3 days ago in FYI
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.