Home Again

Today I moved into a new house marking the end of a full summer long move, and while I’m too jumbled to offer you a full post or even any post before eleven o’clock at night, Pacific Time, I’ll still give you a bit of that mess in a first draft poem. This day is too sweet, too sweaty and too dense with work and joy to not record at least a few lines.

Home Again.

Tomorrow and the next day and the weeks ahead

I will open box after box and again,

tunneling through our past, unwrapping:

my grandmother’s plates,

pictures of my once pink, rubberband-wristed babies,

and so, so many books I’ve read or meant to.


How do you know you’re home?

About Sandra

(Blog Editor and Prose Board) recently moved back to California by way of Texas, Baltimore and San Francisco. She runs without shoes, is passionate about produce, and struggles to take pictures with her eyes open.

5 thoughts on “Home Again

  1. My family makes any place home, even for a few weeks (like right now while we’re spending three weeks in Mexico City). I carry my books digitally everywhere and my cast iron pan goes in my suitcase so I can always cook something. The apartment, hotel, or house I’m in feels like home almost immediately.

    I have to focus on making what’s outside my house feel like home. That happens when I’ve figured out how to grocery shop where I live. When I know where the park is and where I can find some good street food. When I’m in the middle of learning about the history and culture of the new place. When I can get to and from church by myself. When I can use public transportation without a hitch. When we manage day trips without getting too lost or stuck in traffic. The best thing is when I find a kindred spirit in the new place too, but that’s rare, so it’s not a requirement. :)

  2. Yes, Amira, as a lifelong vagabond, that is my experience, too. I am most at home in the temple. I know I’m home when I feel God with me.

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