How strange and sweet the word
Appears on my tongue,
Attaching to living people rather than
Places.
Or rather, experiences and souls
That attach themselves to me;
I find familiar dwelling
Among beloved faces.
A golden-lit living room where
Flowers hang and clear voices sing
And arms wrap around me to keep
Warm.
This world swarms with every
Reckless joy and sweet companionship.
A white sofa with familiar hands
Stroking my hair and familiar
Feet pattering on the floor;
The hum of the television.
This world reminds of my childhood,
A nostalgic tradition of my growth.
More memories impress upon me;
The essences of home—
A dimly lit cabin with a comforting
Shoulder to lean upon, and a
Stringed instrument that echoes
Among the walls and bodies
That recline in peace upon the floor.
A mountaintop hike in dense fog,
Drawn with many feet
That have experienced a rollercoaster
Of ups and downs, leading swiftly to
The heart of Jesus.
A cliff overlooking a glittering city
That I once thought to be ugly, but now—
With the haze of cigars and friendship—
Represents the beauty of all of you.
A late-night clattering adventure
Among railroad tracks and fireworks
And every wild thing that roams the
Hearts of the young.
Every song that has been sung,
Every word that has been spoken;
Every embrace that warms my soul,
Every chase that leads to sunrises.
More than a single place,
I find my home attached to a map—
A thousand strings marking the world
That I have grown to love,
Finding their intertwining way to the
Lives of the souls
Who remind me of comfort and safety and
Home.
12.17.18
Home.
12.17.18
