This morning’s words are
stuck in this middling place
of leaving ‘home’ to go home.
Words not knowing
which direction to take until
each memory settles like falling red gold leaves ~
gently piling in the corners and edges of my mind and warm spaces of my home and my heart.
I pack my heart on this morning with this new/old laughter of ‘home’ while I pack my luggage with the
beautifully storied laundry of tomorrow.
“Home is where we tie one end of the thread of life.”
~ Martin Buxbaum, poet
No comments:
Post a Comment