• March 15, 2019 |

    home is?

    looking for lost pieces in a new place

    article by , illustrated by

    Home is wide-open skies; indigo and cerulean blues,
    mixed with the lightest hues of purple and pink, like cotton candy
    Orange streaks line the sky, like someone took a paintbrush
    and ever so delicately blended and mixed
    the colors to make motion stop and heads turn up
    The Christian ladies used to say
    that god created our sunsets,
    of them to assume I believed in their stories
    or that we had the same Creator

    Home is dirt-red colored hands
    from climbing mounds and falling
    down once my feet got caught up, after running too
    fast to catch two boys
    Wild ones, we shared the same name,
    their skinny legs and loud laughs and
    hair that always stood straight up—
    mimicking their energy and excitement
    I was always three steps too slow, my legs too short
    to span the length of their strides

    Home is the plains; that wind,
    the endless fields of wheat
    colored goldenrod, never
    having enough to do
    It is sitting on the swingset at two
    in the morning
    walking up and down roads with no
    destination in mind
    It is looking out for miles and seeing
    the rolling hills
    Shouting into the endless and vast sky
    for no one
    would hear my screams of anger and pain

    Home is the river that winds
    around bluffs and trees,
    sparkling prettier than a diamond
    when the sun hits
    It is the cool that splatters onto your skin
    when you dip your oar into the water,
    moving with the current, the bass, the perch
    It is hearing the shrieks and screams of little ones,
    splashing, kicking, learning to wade
    It is the summer

    Home is the sun, its warmth
    a familiar embrace that wraps around me
    when I step out in the brisk mornings
    and the air smells sweet
    The birds sing their morning songs,
    I stretch out my arms, letting every inch
    of my being be touched
    Welcoming the day

    Home is now caught in small
    When I catch a peek of a clementine
    and raspberry sky
    When I pass by that one bush
    on my morning walk
    and hear the little chirps welcoming me,
    birds starting off their day correctly, brilliantly
    by singing, by thanking the sun
    for coming again, by saying,
    It is when I see the beauty and love
    in my friends’ eyes,
    shining through the darkness
    that so easily attaches itself to my spirit

    Home has found me in this cement block, where
    structures of steel and sheetrock blind the miles
    of blue that have marked my childhood
    It has found a way into my life
    with bitter touches of wind and gray rains
    It presents itself
    As I step into the night and am greeted
    by the quiet lull
    of an empty campus and the stars speak
    to me
    Words of beauty, revealing
    what is missed
    in the frenzy
    No longer are my screams
    welcomed into a vast countryside
    But my whispers are heard