poetry, writing

Home

When I’m home, finally home,

I will install those curved glass shelves,

the shelves I opened that tragic Christmas,

Just weeks after Dad passed away.

He bought them for me when I found home.

I’m not there yet, all these years later.

When I’m home, finally home,

I will hang that glass art I bought,

The Frank Lloyd Wright inspired piece,

The one that reminds me of home.

I’m not there yet, it doesn’t belong here.

When I’m home, finally home,

I will smile with delight, spin in the halls,

and breathe in fresh air from outside.

I will see the seasons change and feel love.

I’m not there yet, but one day I will.

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