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

(Co-Editor-in-Chief) 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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