HOME ISN'T HERE

FINE ART PHOTOGRAPHY AND POETRY | 2019

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. 

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 within the miles I drove. 

I started to find it in the smooth skin at the back of your knee and the laugh on your lips.

Like sinking into the safety of my childhood bed.

But my dreams became murky 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 the walls of my heart expand across continents and time. 

And I’ll never be home.

Does that set me free?

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