What Repeats: a poem

Home

is what repeats--

same door

same keys

dropping into the same

blue dish,

same fingers finding

light switches

in the dark.

Same sounds out the window, same

portion of horizon--

I repeat.

Me & my husband

& son.

We repeat.

Suitcases &

t-shirts (two)

shorts & pants

notebooks &

bedtime lullabies.

These are the constants now--

different kitchens

hallways

night lights

sunrises;

new dishes & spoons

& rules for living--

clean up here,

relax there.

Bring your own groceries;

eat grandma’s hot dish.

What’s the lesson?

If I remain steady now,

sane & on course

with every little inlet,

every reef of coral

forcing a tack

& constant vigilance;

If I am learning

to captain by feel,

keep my eyes on the stars

who are constant travelers, too

can’t I go anywhere?

Do anything?

Be

anyone?--

In all our travels

I return to my inner course,

my own Golden Compass,

having faith in it

because it speaks to me,

truer every time

I listen well.

--Take a depth charge!--

The voices call out

from their posts in the darkness.

Wind propels us,

the breath of God.

Angels, then--

is that who climbs the rigging,

helps mend the sails?

Bails water out beside me

down below?

As good as.

The rope comes up,

silent & slick

on its oiled pulley--

the reading confirms it,

what the map

the compass

the stars

have all been telling me:

I am not alone.

The ship sails on

with me at the helm

when the watch is mine,

but also when I sleep--

Who steers it then?

Who do I trust

never seeing their faces?

Wind,

Waves, yes,

but even more--

Friends.

Sail on,

sail on--

home repeats,

tomorrow waits.

-Rose Arrowsmith DeCoux; 23/6/11

I'm thinking a lot about what "home" means during this nomadic couple of months before we move to India. Read more on our family blog.