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I’m awfully homesick, but
people always ask me the wrong questions.
“Where is home for you?
Where do you go?”
The thing is,
isn’t a “where” question to me.
There is no mere
longitude and latitude
that can locate home for me,
my home is not cemented into the earth.
Home is a “who” question.
is home for you?
Where there ought to be brick and mortar there are bones,
where there should be couches and beds to rest on
there are arms open to embrace me.
I find home in no establishment of carpets and china cabinets,
I find comfort and solace in a person.
So, my dear,
are home for me.
And I’m homesick.
I miss my girlfriend. I miss her terribly. I long for those embraces where we'd just lay down in silence for hours, tracing the outlines of each other and drowning in each other's touch.
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