HERE NOT HOME

Home isn't here. 

 

It used to stretch through the canyons of the golden hills.

Last I looked, those rivers ran a new course.

 

I catch glimmers of it in the creases of my fathers eyes,

but this couldn’t be home forever.

 

I thought I left it in a safe place, 

wound it up tight with school paste and thread. 

But time ages thread, and threads become loose, and loose threads unravel. 

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I trailed that thread across state lines,

driving through the patchwork of what I knew and what I wanted to know. 

But home wasn’t in the miles that I drove. 

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I briefly found it in the smooth skin at the back of your knee,

while slipping into the sweet comfort of a familiar bed. 

But my dreams grew hazy and I lost sight of the edge.

 

I’m still here. Not home. 

But if they say home is made by love and not walls,

then my search has been made in vain.

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For walls of my heart are strewn across continents and time. 

 

I’ll never be home.

 

Does this set me free? 

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