my white terracotta home

I don’t remember the last time I looked down at the ground beneath my feet and felt

as though I’ve come home

maybe as a 6-year old

hopping off the school van and walking down the winding path

running as I caught the first sight of the terracotta roof

our white house

running past the towering coconut trees and the leafy mango tree

and up the driveway past the rose apples

to see my grandmother watering her plants

with her silver hair in a long plait

her kind eyes smiling at me ushering me inside

"slow down, you’ll fall and split your head open"

"go inside and get changed, my love"

maybe then I felt like I’d come home

maybe that was the last time home was a place

I didn’t want to leave but it was okay, we were coming back in 6 months

from then it was moving from one tiny apartment to the next and 6 months meant 8 years

8 years too late because our lives were now 5000 miles away

and going back didn’t feel like going home

because home was never a place

home was unceasing unconditional love

home was stability

and I hadn’t felt that since May 3rd, 2007

the stability of my white terracotta home

where life was easy and the love we had for one another could be felt radiating from the walls

But last week on the train

as I held your hands in my lap watching you drift in and out of sleep

and in my bed wrapped up in your arms

wearing your blue and green jumper with my head against your chest

listening to the soft thud of your heartbeat

hearing you whisper that you love me

I felt like I came back home