I'm teaching a workshop on writing about Home this month. Here's a little something I started at the first workshop on Monday night.
Home Later it wouldn’t be the basement
or the solo bedroom with gold trim
or the orange bookcase
It would not be the apartment on Marigold
or the duplex on Chubbuck Road
It wouldn’t even be the house, finally
ours, on Chase. Home?
Who can say
It’s not this small kitchen
or the dusty baseboards
the muddy backyard
the arrangement of four walls
and furniture, beds and sofas
or the accumulation of books and time
It’s the presence of bodies
in such a space
the husband, the son, the dog
and the kind of quiet
that only emerges
from sleep & snow
An orchid from Kew Gardens.
London and the Millennium Bridge
