By Katherine Bennett
Home is a whirlwind
It’s a simple word with the most complex undertones
It’s a division, a distinction, a word to be wary of
It should be easy – natural
But it comes with a price.
Home is packing boxes
– Constantly packing those fucking boxes
Moving trucks, lost furniture, and broken pottery
Unpacking, redecorating, resettling
Just to tear it down again.
Home is vine-ripened tomatoes and baby frogs and stray cats
Dirt lanes and horse pastures and old cabins
Overpriced apartments and greedy landlords
Skylights and sketchy neighborhoods with fast roads
Where no one pays attention to the speed limit.
Home is the rustle of wind through fragrant pines
Backyard creeks and salty, sun-kissed skin
Playing in the dirt and playing in the rain
Hurricanes and thunderstorms and all the things
That are supposed to be scary.
Home is a paradox
It is the rhythmic ocean waves with murky depths
Open countryside and no-trespassing signs
Walking on sand or walking on eggshells
Creating stability when nothing is ever certain.
Home is a comfortable bed – or maybe a lumpy couch
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on Christmas
The smell of spices and haphazard birthday cakes
Bike rides and car drives and waving at passersby
Perfume and Dove Original Deodorant and oil paints.
But most importantly,
Home is the friends and family from far away
The two a.m calls from different time zones
Social media updates and awkward Snapchats
Cheesy letters and carefully packaged cookies
Sweet reunions and endless laughter
As if no time has passed since we were last together.