Homeward Bound

Homeward Bound

Homeward, the word for a direction
you invent. You will see it

change during your life, the place
you return to every night

or congregate toward for occasions
and holidays, non-vacations.

Home fluctuates because half of it
depends on a physical space

and half depends on what is behind
our faces, how our brains

and dreams handle home. Have you
trudged your way up from

the deep end of sleep, and not known
which bedroom in which

home extended its hand to pull you
back to consciousness.

Which pieces of home have followed
you obediently, a dresser,

a bed, an earthenware pot you use to hold
spatulas and wooden spoons,

the same brown and white pot your folks
used in their first apartment

together, before you got here, to the world.
When you book a flight

to some home, do you screw up the airport
codes as I do, departure

and arrival batting home around between
them. Why do we return to

what we know. Do we uncover any anchors
or nets. Homeward bound,

the song goes, which means heading for home
or tied up in looking.