Call Me Home

As a traveler, I roam,
but my open front door,
wooden flower wreath
is welcome relief.
Home is heartbeat,
the anchor underneath.
Resented, 
then reconsidered.
I need some sense of sameness
to be centered.
Familiar shadow through window,
the strange scent of the familiar,
unique imprint on feather pillow,
family members are the pillars that
call me home. 

ยฉ 2022 | K.Hartless

This piece was prepared for Flashback Track Friday #76 hosted by Mr. Bump. Join us in sharing songs, artwork, and poetry inspired by home, and be sure to tune in every Friday to songshinesounds for a new flashback and invitation.

30 Comments

      1. Aww, thanks so much! My destination is at the base of the thumb area. Michiganders may have a larger population of left-handed folks? ๐Ÿ˜‚

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