Home

Home,

near and far

hand-in-hand.

*

Home,

where we made it.

No matter where life led

or what we packed.

*

Each destination distinctive,

just like the pictures on those

orange and white moving vans.

*

One a moose,

another a turtle,

even a zebra, once.

*

The memories attempting

to blur together

like the scenery outside

a rolled down window.

*

Or the rolled up one

I once smashed

my face into,

thinking it was down.

Leaving embarrassment along

with a cheek imprint.

*

My sister’s laughter still

echoes with every retelling.

A memory,

I wish could be lost

like that box we're sure

had been packed.

*

Home,

finally became

a definitive spot.

A mark on a map.

A fixed address.

Where the hands I held

as mine grew,

even now reside.

*

But now another map has unfolded.

Another ‘x’ marks the spot where

two sets of tiny hands,

had fit within my grown ones.

*

Hands I love,

not born of me.

Hands that made me

feel at home.

*

Hands now too far

to hold.

The distance

in our hand-prints

now outpace the kilometres

that lay between us.

*

Home,

near and far

hand-in-hand

is wherever you are.