Poem: Upon the Death of Home

Maybe this spring will make more sense than last spring, when nothing seemed right at all. (photo: adamaecompton)

Humans have a lot of social conventions that they use to memorialize both positive and negative events: They throw “showers” for women who are close to giving birth, they have “receptions” at “weddings,” and they have “funerals” for when humans die. But what do humans do when the place they call home can no longer be called home?

There’s no social convention for the death of a home… it seems a private sorrow, not able to be understood by humans outside the home. The loss is both a loss of place and a loss of future memories that have no chance to be made in that place.

There’s something about home and human that cannot be separated– all humans seek home. And when that’s no longer possible? Read on– I asked my master, and he answered in verse:

Upon the Death of Home

I’m as empty
as this house:
Floors bare
as my heart,
Walls blank
as my eyes,
Rooms hollow
as my gut.
 
I’m as lifeless
as this house:
Stairs still
as my breath,
Windows closed
as my mouth,
Stoves cold
as my memory.
 
I’m as nothing
as this house:
No longer
beating,
No longer
comforting,
No longer
knowing…
 
…what it’s like
to be human,
to be home.
 
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About adamaecompton

just a three-legged rescue dog, bloggin about critical citizenship, the environment, and all sorts of literacy.
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2 Responses to Poem: Upon the Death of Home

  1. Bassas Blog says:

    Wonderful poem. You are right about thye connectedness of home and human.

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