How can i understand
what it means to provide a home
when i have not felt
what it’s like
two hearts beating
i age, and think to myself
that i understand
without ever having
the expectation to reciprocate
the way She has
moulded Herself to fit my life
when our souls were empty
she was the river that filled me first
when i was tired
She would rise as sunshine
to help me grow
when i was weak
She became my energy
only to give up what little She had left
how did i get here
if not for Her
She is a fortress
a barricade that rose
that fought against the world
for a single soul
the wall that has held me strong
My mother is a shapeshifter
and I am trying to flow
into the ebbs and waves of who she is
so that i too
can lay myself down
who do you need be to be?
With all of the love for my angel Mama on earth, and my angel Oma in heaven.
I am the luckiest to have you both.
Much of the writing I find myself recording in the little books I carry around with me is observation. Throughout my time in Europe I did my best to see people, to listen to the things that were occurring around me. One day, while my family spent some time on the lake in Austria, a particular family caught my attention and this is what I wrote once I swam back to shore:
“I am sitting on a dock in the middle of a lake; it is crystal clear, surrounded by mountains.
The water is cold.
The cold kind of fresh that makes you feel clean when you jump in
A family of four swims up to the dock
There is a dad, a mom, a daughter and a son.
The kids are young.
The boy yells “komm papa komm! Los geht’s!”
They are giggling and all smiles. I watch them for a while wrestling and throwing each other into the water.
Normally these things make me miss my dad- and while this reminded me of the times we used to have together- it made me miss the idea of family as a whole.
For so long I have wrested with the idea that having children is selfish.
That time and resources should be invested elsewhere.
Lying here, mesmerized by this happy little family I feel like I can’t tell myself this anymore.
Someday in the far future I am going to have a family.
I am going to have kids and adopt kids.
From a very young age I am going to look into their shining eyes full of potential and teach them how to take on life and appreciate it with every inch. of. their. souls. “
I wrote the first few lines of this poem in a grocery store parking lot in the notes section of my phone. The idea of home is something I’ve turned over in my mind for quiet a few years now and I’ve never really been sure what to make of it. However, in a hotel bed of all ironic places, I think I finally found the words…
And so that makes me think you really can’t make homes out of human beings.
Because they take things with them when they go.
Like the smell of their baking
or the sound of their voice when you call them on the phone.
They take their laugh
and their cologne
and the way they touch you.
They take the comfort
and the reassurance
and every answer
to every question they leave behind.
We settle like dust into the spaces between their bones
and when they go,
the parts of us that we moved in go with.
Humans are not your home.
Root into yourself. Dig lower.
Plant love so deep within yourself.
Tuck happiness into the safest corners of your rib cage
so that you always have some where only you know to look
Run your hands over every inch of your body
until you know it as well as the walls of the house you grew up in-
And know that you are home.
Say it as you feel yourself breathing-
One hand on your chest
another entwined in your sweet smelling hair,
“I am home,
this body is home,
my soul is so beautifully safe in this home.”