some say home's that place from where you start.
some say it's others, it's a time and name people.
both seem to be trying to catch a handful of wind.
whatever else home is, it's a place in the heart.

home is a moveable feast, where mama
goes, so goes her heart, our home
is a collection of what-not shelves
with memories, too many to feel loss.

home, a place we seek so long to flee
is the very stopping point of each turn,
each wayward decision made, reaped; all
are measured, judged at home, our home.

home is real, memories carry children
up to the limits of nostalgia, grinning
as days recall a relaxation of time,
of worries and adult pains we carry now.

nearness of family, street, neighborhood
call to the heart a beacon-ray springing
forth, wings strong from mama's preening
and caring, now awaiting for the lift-off.

home is mama, daddy, brother, sister; nieces,
daughters-in-laws, grandsons, granddaughters,
all share bondages of blood and authenticity;
the pattern more complicated as we grow older.

05/09/2008

Author's Note: written for me mama, Myrtle, on mother's day...with a nod to my other mama, living with Jesus...much love, charlie

Posted on 05/09/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan