Home Coming

The fresh paint belying

The cracks she knew

Were papered over

For her pleasure

Smoothening brows

Since forever.

The gentle kiss

The cover

Glossing over tired features.


I’m home she said, slipping the bag from her shoulders,

I’m home, said the bag on the dust

Accumulated, the stories of absence

Bringing their own hallowed mistrust.


Heading for the kettle, she wondered

At its lonely stance

As if her home coming

Had given it another chance


The pipes, she wondered

Had they frozen while she was away?

Or would they be there for her

Just as they were before, her mainstay.


Maybe they had moved on

Taken by others who knew their worth

The Taking less troubled

Than the search


What was, still is, She hoped

Breathing in the motes

The light slanting, sliding,

Eliding known corners.


Had it aged, faded gently,

As she hobnobbed in sunny climes


Like her unruly hedgerows


The corner shop had changed hands

The awning told her that

The plums now in cellophaned boxes

The apples stickered just so

The sausages spoke of orders

The bananas, still glowed yellow

Her mind boggled disoriented, slow

Her memory redundant

Clinging to the edges of mellow


As the thinner plastic of her shopping bag

Grazed against the unseasonal Holly

Telling her something,

Something she should know

Her home, it was, familiar,

Her eyes all the same ,

Casting around as they did before

Wondering where to pin the blame


Errands slipping into routine

That this was it, she was back

Practiced ease of tired hands reproof

Then why – this refraction as attack..


It’ll take a while, you’ll settle down

She heard the voice of her dearest friend

Who was long gone.

The neighbours new, the outsider she

The old pub down the road,

With its new sign swinging,



She took the train

The bus to school

To gardens of picnics past

Where Teddy Bears flew

The fragments familiar

The picture askew

And then she realised

She, She was the glue.

To hold it together, to built it anew

Patterns that work, not patterns that grew


Singing in rhythm, abandoning the rhyme

Doing it her way this time.

Her heart singing notes to the tracks in her head

Her trinity aligned, the triad tandemised,

Nestling in her self made bed

Creaking to her tune.



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