Returning Home

Home to my later
home to where I lived
home to where I loved,

Home being a concept
of something, I knew once
the familiar faces, places
the same paths, I’d crossed
crossing out when I moved on

Life being like a river
never returning to its source
the waters drove me into the banks
the undercurrent still grabbing my feet
tearing at me, dragging me onward

I forded the river
steadying myself from the current
taking careful aim to cross again
returning to where I began

Disappointment would find me
if indeed, I thought that everything else
all that which I held dear, hadn’t wouldn’t dare
to have changed since my departure
since my life’s bags were packed and sent
away from all that I knew intensely,
so intensely

The patterns of my memory
resemble themselves, and yet
the edges er worn and torn
the colors faded as well, not being true
not being how I remember them
not being how I wanted to remember them,

The river didn’t chance to return me
to that place where I had started
the difficulty of finding something
not existing anymore,
not existing being the same, anymore

I let the river continue on its meander
not being the river of my youth, anymore
crashing along, moving boulders and tearing
at tree roots,
the meander continues to move me
just a bit slower than before, heading
steadily, surely, most exactly

to the sea
where all rivers become as one….


2 thoughts on “Returning Home

  1. Having just returned to my own roots in East Yorkshire I think you summed this up beautifully. Of course being from this area also means I am more than likely a descendant of either Danish or Norwegian Vikings, maybe I should get a DNA test? 😀


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