Home: A Poem

Home

"Mid pleasures and palaces tho I may roam/

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."

I cannot count how many times 

I have watched the road unwind before me, awash in sun and promise,

or how many times I have seen that promise

fade behind me in the glow of taillights.

I cannot count how many times

I have gazed out a window

at a patchwork of unfamiliar fields and hills,

on the crashing descent of a mountain waterfall,

across a snow-covered wonderland with white-coated trees and frozen lakes,

or past sun-bathed vineyards basking in Old World charm.

I cannot count how many times

I have traversed the last rise of that familiar hill,

travel-worn, heartsick, weary,

to see home rising in the distance.

And felt my spirits lifted,

my soul, renewed.

I have waited for the white fence,

the cornfields,

the familiar length of a red barn,,

and the white house, reigning peacefully

over this small kingdom.

Bringing back memories

of the countless moments 

that have mattered:

They all lead me back here.

Of afternoons gathered around the piano, singing hymns that still my soul,

of summer twilights in the porch swing,

of walking endless circles in the summer's heat, coaxing reluctant cattle to stand tall,

of eating tomato sandwiches on white bread in the kitchen.

Hiding in the fortress of a spreading magnolia tree,

playing at Little House on the Prairie in the tops of a hay loft,

stealing a drink from the tin water dipper in the cool of the pumphouse,

and chocolate pudding and Cool Whip from the refrigerator after school.

Of a bell ringing out four o'clock, and a walk barefoot down the front yard aisle

toward the man who would share my life, forever.

Of gathering around a hospital bed in the front room, singing old hymns once again,

saying goodbye in song to the man I thought would live forever.

Of a last squeeze of my grandmother's hand

before the light in her eyes went out forever.

Of understanding better than most how a song can be a prayer.

These are my artifacts;

Breadcrumbs scattered along the trail of my life.

Always leading me back,

always leading me home.