Homecoming isn’t
the same anymore
the furniture has
been rearranged
and grief sits in
your empty chairThe spoon has
leached its metal
into my tea and
the milk seems
curdled even though
it’s in the halcyon days
before its use by dateThere is a fragment
of me standing
on the mantlepiece
a part of you is laughing
next to meWill this new me
ever wear the previous
mantle of my peace?Home is no longer
a physical place
to rest and retreat in
it’s the sound of
an opera floating
on the breeze
the scent of roses
after summer rain
hydrangeas growing
in the shade of a
mossy wall
pasta in a blue and
white ceramic bowlHomecoming
shattered
to shards
of memories
scattered like ashes
appearing
wherever I am
© Tanya Southey
#52words52weeks
