Back Home

       I must have seen this.
       I must have known.
       I must have said yes.
       How determined to go I must have been!
       How certain I must have been I would be back!
       How quiet it is inside, waiting.
       Waiting on my first new word.
       One I will not recognize from my scrawled notes.
       One not yet memorized from my infected dreams.
       One stepping out away from the break.
       I even pointed, out to that first new word.
       Nothing here is familiar.
       I have not even dreamed this place.
       The pantry has food I've no taste for.
       The closet hangs clothes I've no fit to.
       The bed isn't even the direction I sleep in.
       This place is mine?
       So he opens pages for me to read.
       Words in my old scrawl, from before.
       Words written to welcome myself home.
       Words reaching through to where I now am.
       I've come home. I am back home.
       Like the first breath of a baby, that first word.
       One breath, then more until joined in a kiss.
       One kiss, then more until steady as western wind.
       One wind, then more until crashing like storm.
       One storm, then bursting like creation's fire.
       I still don't remember a thing. Must I?
       Connections get easier after enough words.
       Memories get practiced at making themselves up.
       I get quite quick at training myself when to smile.
       See? Everything still works like it's the same.
       He lets me play along.
       Then he turns the page to read the next poem.
       It's one of my own.
       I don't remember writing it.
       One about coming back home.
       I can hear me in it.
       I must have seen this coming.
       He tells me these books are mine.
       Margins are cluttered with my crazy old scrawl.
       It's an author I used to read him in bed.
       He knows I still don't remember making love.
       I've only heard written down we did.
       Words I left myself for when I got back.
       I must have known these words before.
       I must have been home here before.
       I must have loved him before.
       How carefully I made ready my return!

3 Responses to “Back Home”

  1. 2012.08.14 at 7:52 pm

    Wow…this poem was like a magnet…drawing my mind into each line…attempting to untangle the full story.

  2. 2012.08.16 at 6:06 am


    Yes, you did know of this. It was why you did what you did and went where you went. We talked of it, long nights. I know you won’t remember any of that even when you read those notes too. You don’t need to remember. You only need to know where you are going, not where you have been.

    That’s home, too. Home is home not because it’s familiar from its memories, but because you know you have a place there tomorrow that is yours.

    And that’s his love too. True for what it will mean to you tomorrow.

    Feel how you know to write it out. Touch why you are where you are. You will know.

    • 3 sarachnid
      2012.08.16 at 3:14 pm

      I see that! Oh! All the way through! How did you know? Not what I said in all my notes for myself, and not what all we talked about either. This is not that. How did you know about what I would see through how I know to write it?

      Can’t you make it back here sooner?

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