Poetry | Going Home

My heart calls for home,

For the space of gentle light,

Nights where love

Comes in smells and touch -

The sounds of kitchens

And the squeeze of hugs.

My heart calls for the freedom

Of arrival in a foreign place

That in my blood, I know,

And then, I'm home.

My heart calls in my breath

To accept what and who I am,

And then speak its whisper

Now, 'Stay lit, I am, we can.'