Home is my feet bare
and my heart elated
as I climb
higher and higher.
Pushing through the ivy
until I reach the final opening.
A seven year old heart
on top of the world
as she reaches the
thinnest branches.
Home is my mother’s arms,
comforting and warm,
holding me as I sob.
Yearning for a smile
but patient with my tears.
As the demons in my dreams
deprive me of sleep
she leaves room in her bed.
My mother,
face aging from sleepless nights,
tears away my demons.
Home is the field
and the power it holds.
Where worries quiet themselves
and clenched fists begin to rest.
Each teammate,
bodies trained for discipline,
encourages one another through the pain.
Hands held like waffles
as the team prays for strength.
The ground is pierced by my cleats
as I sprint to win my only
confidence.
Home is the rain I dance under.
The girl, still just a child,
dances away her heartache
under the crying sky.
Each splash a symbol of joy
while I, smiling and giggling,
celebrate my home.
Reviews
No reviews yet.