Home.

It’s where memories lay thick,

where burdens drop quick,

where the load is lightened just

by the sharing,

the being there.

You are welcome as you are,

come what may,

do what you do,

be who you are.

A ridiculous,

wonderful,

needy,

whole,

desperate,

giving,

lost

mess.

But just come

Home.

It’s easy to think

that home can be touched,

that the material

should be

eternal.

 

It’s easy to think

home is Christmas day skating parties,

or my old window seat,

framed with lilacs.

Or that home is

all those sticks we watered,

that somehow became taller than all of us.

That home is

that dead end road

where I worked out my salvation

with tears and songs.

Or that home is

the long, scarred dinner table,

the fire pit gatherings,

the Sunday night Disney movies,

the impromptu ball games,

the sky a’fire sunsets,

the harvest from the garden,

the pussy willows in spring,

leaf piles in fall,

sky blue delphiniums in June

and ski tracks in the snow.

But home isn’t earth.

Home isn’t stuff.

Home can’t be touched,

horded, kept safe

from change.

Home can’t be bought

and it can’t be sold.

Home is souls.

Souls I call

When the toilet breaks

Or my heart.

 

Home is the presence of everyone

round the dinner table,

no matter which

dinner table.

 

Home is a hand to hold

that has held yours

all your life.

 

Home is the consistency

of the people

who sacrifice

their needs daily

to make sure

you know

you are

loved.

 

Home is

conversations,

relationships,

a continuation,

a flow

from one day

to the next,

from week to week,

an everyday-ness

that’s most about

being present

and less about

where that present

is.

 

Home is love.

Love is home.

Love isn’t going anywhere,

neither is home.

Home is late night girl talks

with tea and tears.

Home is showing up in the garage

to talk to Dad.

Home is finding Mom, wrapped up with a book,

always ready to listen.

Home is big brother hugs

and little brother wisecracks.

Home is ever energetic little boys

and new babies to hold.

Home is shuffling round each other

at the sink and catching up.

Home is your hand finding mine

and the peace you carry.

 

Home is face to face,

heart to heart with you

and never having to say

goodbye.

There is more than enough

home to go around.

More than enough love.

Cause home is eternal.

These souls,

God knows,

we need them

forever.

 

And for that

I praise.