All the Faces of Home

A prose poem on memory and myth

Dennis van de Water on Shutterstock.com

I want to tread again the country lanes my grandfather knew
to watch him pluck blackberries out of the wild bush
and think his fierce, peaceful thoughts.

I want to stand in a glade among the oaks and the willows
where the sun flashes striped on the ground
and listen for faerie secrets in the wind.

I want to walk on a cobblestone street
bending down to a grey sea
and hear the great wooden ships call me to lands unknown.

I want to rest in the place between the first and the ending drink
where friends are remembered in laughter
and good cheer banishes worry.

I want to kneel before the stained glass
asking hard questions of the Lord
and hear His gentle voice say, “Rise, and know that all is well.”

I want to live in the bed where we were young
and I held you
feeling your heartbeat as soft and sure as the rain outside
until you woke and kissed me
and said we had known each other always.

All these wants are dreams, aye,
but all dreams must one day be true.

When I’m Older