Home is

Home is

where the past and present
meet like old friends

who have not seen each other

in years

 

It is

‘a place to come back to’

and the one I cannot leave

without tears and longing and regret.

 

Home is

here and there

and always somewhere else.

I cannot escape it

though it pulls my heart

like a tug-of-war between

foes equally matched.

 

It is corn stalks waving in the wind

and traffic slowing for tractors

in summer.

It is planting and tending and harvest and winter,

the rhythms of the fields marking time

for everyone.

 

Home is deep grief. 

My heart shredded and mended as

scenes from two funerals

flash across my mind.

 

It is mountaintop joy

remembering the days

of blossoming love. The friendships, 

the weddings, the births, the way

the city comes to life in the summer.

 

Home is the river that splits the city

north and south

as my heart splits

east and midwest.

 

Home is simple.

And complicated.

It is deep breaths.

And wounds that won’t quite heal.

 

It is then and it is now.

It is who I was and who I am and who I will be.

 

Home is.