Poem 9: Hiraeth

I'm homesick for a place

that doesn't exist.

I feel it deep in my belly,

churning with bile,

"Go home."

The sun is not enough here.

It's not the same as home's.

Here it never falters.

Here it's never shrouded by

a cloud of sadness

making Helios even

more prized.

My fenweh has betrayed me.

I no longer burn to

escape and run into the

arms of the ocean,

with its tentacles enveloping me,

ushering me to consume

the salt of life.

Home now only feels like you

and your timid embrace,

and your sandy, coconut flour bed,

where the sounds of seagulls are

replaced with white noise.

Home now feels like the messy kitchen

you try and hide from me,

the deeply breathing life scattered

across your floors

like the shadows of laughter

frozen in time.

The feeling that I've returned

to where I'm supposed to be

is the last place I should be,

and my heart will race and pound

until our homeward bound

paths cross again.