where exactly is home?

by hiraeth   Aug 19, 2017


i wish I can tell you
with untethered honesty
that at night,
there’s a warm bed in a home
waiting for me to crawl into,

but there’s not.

there's a warm bed that waits
for me most mournings,
blackout curtains dim enough
of the sky’s spilling cup of sun
to resemble night well enough
to convince me to sleep in a
cold stark room (afremov
couldn’t spill enough colours
to brighten it).

and on those days,
where the bed expects
my company at night,

i wish I could tell you that
they were mornings and
not mournings –

hundreds of passengers spill
into a crowded train chugging
slowly away towards
union station,
and each stop, the train comes
apart at its seams as more
passengers spill in and out,
dropping a little part of themselves
on the seats as they scurry away
to jobs and lectures only to rinse
and repeat the very next day.

i wish I could tell you,
that the monotony ceased long ago,
but it hasn’t,
the homeless man outside of tim horton’s
eagerly holds the door open for me
most days, slips other days, telling me
‘go back to your own country. go back home’

and i always pause,
wondering where exactly home is,
if not here, the only soils I’ve
ever known?

9


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Latest Comments

  • 3 months ago

    by C Cattaway

    Just found this, & it's full of colour & imagery. Beautiful write. Well done. Catherine x

  • 5 months ago

    by Sai

    I could've sworn I already left a comment on this??

    That train imagery is so eloquently written. I wrote something about that but now I forget. Anyway...

    "i wish I could tell you, / that the monotony ceased long ago, / but it hasn't"

    This part reminds me so much of my anxiety. People credit time as a healer but I guess even its capabilities also have a limit. Also applicable to depression and such.

    "the homeless man outside of tim horton’s
    eagerly holds the door open for me
    most days, slips other days, telling me
    ‘go back to your own country. go back home’"

    Reading this again today, these lines still hold that crippling effect it had on me the first time I read this. It made me feel guilty, but my mind tells me I've done nothing wrong. I love written works like that - when emotions are stirred inside of you that weren't even your own to begin with. Dwelling more on this homeless man part, I can't help but think that when he says such unkind things, it's his unfortunate circumstance speaking. Because there are still days when he "eagerly holds the door open for [you]". We can't really blame them. Where I'm from, the homeless population is growing and it's heartbreaking when you want to do something to change it but what you do is not enough. It has to be a community effort.

    If you ask me, the final stanza isn't as gripping as the part I highlighted above. It's still very well written and it could just be me. I mean I could see why you needed to end it that way and it sort of doesn't leave the reader with as heavy a feeling if you ended it with the previous one. Still the sad atmosphere, more of the throbbing, incessant kind that we'll never get used to despite how long we've known its company.

  • 5 months ago

    by Milly Hayward

    Another wow. Usually I am drawn to rhyming poetry but your style has me captivated. The imagery and emotions that your work inspires is wonderful. Milly x

  • 5 months ago

    by Lucifer

    Home is here(pnq).
    This is your soil, your only soil, and you have the nutrients too.
    So keep on planting your poems here everyday. And when we smell the flowers on those poems, our mournings will become
    mornings forever.

    Thank you for being among us.

  • 5 months ago

    by Britt

    How do you do this every time? This is beautiful.

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