Home

by Keona Blanks

 

All we ever want is to be back home

To climb the tree with swings

and watch the world pass by

 

To smell mothers rosy perfume;

when she hugs you tight

To cycle fast down the hill

hair billowing behind you like a flag

 

Step by step

racing home for supper with your old neighbor friends

ringing laughter

as the day slips away

the bursting oranges and pinks of the sunset spill over the hill

 

Dinner scents escaping through kitchen windows

dogs howling like alarms

The sound of cutlery hitting dishes

mothers warm graceful smile

 

The howling wind

whispering like a lullaby while swinging on the old tire swing

Memories fading like looking through a fogged mirror

 

Three small girls giggling as they write their wishes on small slips of paper

Slips of paper to put into the wishing tree

The wishing tree full of folded papers with hopes and dreams written on them

Dreams of success

Dreams of fame

Dreams of fitting in

Dreams…

of going home

 

Dreaming of having spent more time with the people that you don’t remember.

Dreaming of what once was… but isn’t anymore

Dreaming of that old feeling you used to have

that feeling you got when you knew, that at that moment

you are where you belong

you are home.