Hearing my mother say,"Just come home, Mad"
makes my throat swell shut
for reasons
variable over a lifetime
But
This is not a poem about my mother's ever-timely
ability to juxtapose excruciating pain
with the mirage of a healthy home
Or
Maybe the poem is about that
this one and every other
Learning to build a beautiful home inside myself
out of sheer necessity
at such a young age
I am grateful to carry so much home
inside of me
wherever I go
And
I think part of loving someone can be
expanding your shared understanding of home
to include sacred spaces with one another
And
Opening ourselves up to future heartbreak
is one of a laundry list of risks we take
in love, in life, in relationship with others
The most delicate, tonic-like moments
can creep back into your consciousness
like a thief in the night, with all
the weight of an intruder on your chest
The most well-intentioned buoys
can become boulders in your pockets
and only you will feel the difference