Good morning everyone.
Something I wrote as an assigned topic:
Home
That place of memories,
like the smell of chocolate chip cookies
baking in my grandmother's kitchen,
the taste of spice and oatmeal
and morning coffee,
or the anxiety I felt
asking my dad to tie my brownie uniform tie,
report card day
losing a job
late night TV on a Saturday evening,
or the place of sadnesses,
like at my grandfather's funeral.
Home
That place of acceptance,
Where you belong in spite of yourself,
Like an irritating three year old who will not take a nap,
Or a moody teenager who wrapped
Emotion and adventure around herself like a cloak,
Like resting as a baby in your mother’s arms,
Like sitting with her on her last day,
holding hands at the hospital,
connected,
loved.
Home.
That place of returning,
some day,
one day,
where I will stand before him,
he who still bears the scars of his caring,
the hard carpentry of true love's calling,
and as he takes my hand
he will say,
Welcome Home.
Good morning, ms feather.