by Anne E.G. Nydam

Each of us is home
To many homes.
The place you’re born
May settle in the heart –
For some, New England’s maple-sweetened hills,
For some, a scene of other trees on other earth.
The place you went to school
May live in you –
Lessons like the slant of sun,
Arrangements of worn desks,
Voices in whatever language
Cradled childhood dreams.
A home may be
The city where you joined someone,
The house where family grew,
The place you came to rest.
A song may carry you like home,
That book that always draws you in,
The face of one who loves you,
Their voice, their touch:
Where you belong.
We carry many homes within us,
Packed like sweaters
Still carrying familiar scents
And whispered memories.
But for all the gathered homes
Folded in our hearts,
Layered, tattered, outgrown, loved,
We share the same home
Here. This home
Comes wrapped in trees,
Displayed on granite ledge,
Tied with a ribbon of river.
We share this home
In checkout lines, familiar streets,
The trill of wrens and shrill of hawks,
The snow, the mud.
We share the fireworks and fire trucks,
Playground and commuter rail,
Parking lots and parks.
And in this shared place
We are home to one another.
Our faces, our voices,
Our fears and joys, frustration and generosity –
Each of us the fabric of each others’ lives:
And each of us is home.