Senses of Home

Home has a name

Whether it’s Julie, Sophia, or Alexis

Names of those that could have been

But never were

Home has a taste

Spice from the only taqueria around,

Sweetness from the country bakery

Savory diner omelets

Home has a feel

Of cold and bitter December days

Or hot and humid summer nights

And the light breeze, of fall and spring

Home has a smell

Absent of description, yet I know it’s mine

Maybe the grass clippings

Or the ash from a smoldering bonfire

Home has a sound

Like a symphony of spirits, of old memories

Howling winter winds

Chirping crickets

With all these senses of Home

It still seems so far

Colorless and empty

Like a black-white, still image.