Poetry - Home

Published on 27 April 2023 at 19:45

I’m homesick for the driveway on the right after the yellow sign, 

my broken and bruised wood table 

And for my mom’s fingers running through my hair 


I’m homesick for my little orange tent,

the passenger seat of Jules’ jeep 

And for watching concerts on my laptop, drinking red wine out of a pot 


I’m homesick for rocking chairs overlooking the lake, 

checkered pants, chef coats, to-go peanut butter cups

And for finding myself while lost in the middle of the woods 


I’m homesick for the town gathering in the middle of the street to listen to live music,

lemon blueberry sourdough pancakes 

And for a jump in the lake off the docks as the sun beams down 


I’m homesick for everyone crammed on the couch above the garage, 

drives down the twisties 

And for a front row seat at Park Avenue 


I’m homesick for the campfire crackling as the stars shine in the sky  

the butterflies of a crowd going quiet before an artist comes on stage 

And for the emptiness of a two-lane country road 


I’m homesick for the tickle on my skin from playing in the grass, 

my stomach to be perfectly full of my favorite foods 

And for the shower after spending the entire day out in the sun 


I’m homesick for the sizzle of pop rocks poured on my tongue,

my cheeks to hurt from laughing too hard 

And for the crunch of a perfectly ripe apple freshly picked off a tree


I’m homesick for a place I’ll never find, 

a potluck of everywhere I’ve ever loved 

And for it to be filled with everyone I’ve ever loved 


I’m homesick for homes I’ve left all over the world 

in people, places, and feelings 

And for moments I will likely never have again

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