I’m going home today

to stitch the void

between past awakenings

and tomorrow’s dreams.

Home where the hammock

suspended between

the acacia and mango trees

silently waits with its embrace.

Home with the room

that keeps the secrets

that shared the dreams

                the fears      the tears

of the child that I was;

the room that bears witness

to the cries from

the first adult heartbreak;

where well-remembered voices

keep falling into the habit of

calling out childhood names

long-forgotten in unuse.

Home where the kitchen awaits

with warm soup for a threadbare soul

and fervent hugs for a heart

turned cold in solitary journeys.

Today I’m going home

to rest my wings and lick my wounds

and remember

and forget