What I want

(based on a suggestion from @snazzydee and @robcorr)

The space between here and home is

as long as you can think.

What I say when I’m tired

or I can’t think or my hands hurt

Over and over I whispered it

in the delivery room though

I thought I was yelling

I want to go home

The space between here and home is

waiting in an airport with a 2 year old

endless as a repeated word.

Tarmac riddles out an unwound

cassette tape caught in the headlights.

I’ve been pretending all weekend

punching Braille into the wall

I want to go home

The space between here and home is

as bright as a supermarket aisle

glittered with chocolate when

all you want is bread and milk.

Sometimes I wake up and

don’t know where I am. Sometimes

I even say it when I’m home

I want to go home

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Today's poem is based on a suggestion from two peeps (as I forgot to ask for suggestions until 4am and Snaz, being in another timezone, was thankfully awake, then at 6am so was @robcorr):

• @snazzydee: “distance”
• @robcorr: "Airports, because that's where I'm sitting now."

I often say "I want to go home" as a kind of mantra, when I'm upset or tired or...giving birth. (Apparently I was saying it really softly over and over when I was in labour, though I thought I was shouting).

Sometimes home seems so far away, even when I'm sitting on my own couch in my own lounge room. Sometimes I can't quite feel at home anywhere, or I know where home is but I can't get there. Then there are times when I do feel 'at home', whatever it is in that moment, and it's like an easy joy.