A poem responding to the letter exchange of Re: Home by artists: Johannes Pretorius, Lucy Saggers, Iris Shum (Power of Place).
Put down my mug
the cold table
smell of coffee
filled the room
while you come, gently
give me that fondle hug
in a way that,
anybody else knows how,
I could never imagine whom
Ever cold hands
get warmed up
coffee steam
little pecks
my cheeks
makes me grin,
while we look through the kitchen window
to see the rain fall
over our neighbor canopy
It’s 2019 and our first winter
British lands
I wouldn’t know if I could
call this place home
the emptiness
your strong arms
without the presence
of your kind eyes
and
outrageous laugh
Christmas is coming
we wished together
to see the lights
walk around the market
see it snowing
although you look fine,
I find myself hiding everytime I hear you cry
through the same kitchen window
and probably asking yourself
“why?”
Everyone thinks
everything is going well
while liking all those cute pictures of us,
old buildings,
seagulls and ducks
nobody knew the truth
(I never posted on Instagram)
of how many times we went down to hell
filled by early morning pain
with that bitter taste of loneliness
the thought of
never seeing our family again
How many times we asked ourselves
if we made the right choice
leaving behind our loved ones
no idea if, one night,
we’d get that phone call
hear that tearful voice,
hiccups and cries
dreadful words
nobody wishes to hear
spark of despair
lighting up in our hearts
stalking our dreams
filling it with fear
Moving places all my life
here to there
home for me was always
simply a house
some walls, windows and hallways
somewhere to share
family dinner, birthday parties
a chair with my favourite teddy bear
drawing and painting
over and over
dreams I never imagined
I could one day attain
That’s why, for you,
it’s much worse to move away
two decades in a single place
deep-seating your roots
day after day,
surrounded by cousins,
your old granny and a mom
love and pamper
makes you think
any house with all of them
was a home
Here we are
December 2022
another year’s gone
we fight against our odds
waiting for the best to come
a question
one that nobody can really reply
“What it is home?”
would that be the house we live
or the house we always dreamed of?
maybe the place we go by train
Saturday afternoon
holding hands and a cup of coffee?
I don’t know the right answer
this puzzling question
one thing I know, for sure
home isn’t a place
made of wooden door frames and bricks
white windows and riches
a piece of land or an estate
home is where your smile opens my day,
the sound of your breath
blows my curls away from my face
your calloused and warm hands
rests on my cheeks
delicate
home definitely is where we are
side by side walking, until one day
we meet our fate.