POETRY
Belonging
“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”
― James Baldwin
My feet traverse the familiar path
Of grills, rails and greenery
That lead to a place warm as home
Etched vividly in many a memory.
The clack-clacking of my pointed heels
Against the glossy smooth floor
Catches me by surprise —
I’ve never worn those here before.
The walls remain unchanged,
Housing the same clock that signaled freedom
At the end of a long day;
Only the full-grown trees remind me of passed time.
I walk on, with a blissfully warm feeling
Coursing through my entire body
Am I imagining it, or do the halls even
Smell the same as Old Matron Jody?
I hasten with anticipation,
Eager to see her smiling face,
The one who taught me A’s and B’s
And consoled me after a running race.
Here after so many years,
She still lights up lives —
Igniting hearts, illuminating minds,
A miracle worker when someone cries.
My hand is clutching my purse
A tad too tight;
I may have a big job now
But I still get stage fright.
In my scarlet bag lies
A thick striking envelope
Screaming out the fact—
I’ve now grown up.
I suck in a breath
As I near the room,
A hand on the wedding card
For the woman who put the ‘g’ in groom.
I enter the room
And suck in a breath
To smell the familiarity of home
This class was once associated with.
I open my eyes
In mild confusion,
For what I see in my mind’s eye —
It’s there, but also an illusion.
It’s like watching someone else
Occupying your favorite couch,
Reading books you’d never touch,
Dog-earing pages with a gut-wrenching crunch.
It’s like feeling the embers of the fireplace
Tugging at your heart from the inside,
While the real one stands dry,
Cold and soulless on the outside.
The lunch bags lining the walls
Are different — so are the books,
The desks, the board — much like a
Dress that can morph to suit the owner’s looks.
I can hear my heart
Break just a little
As my brain grapples for something
Anything — to keep it from going brittle.
I don’t sense the sweat of the boys
After an impromptu cricket match —
Nor do I feel the little joys
Of birthday cakes and cancelled tests.
I don’t hear my adrenaline rush
As I glance at the row of girls
Giggling, gazing with glee
At the wild bird singing upon the grills.
I feel alien
In a place I called my home,
For not even the scribbled walls
Made it past the years.
Not the peeled off paint,
Nor the scratched out desks,
Nor the engraved couples’ names
Have survived the test of time.
Except for her laugh lines,
Her elegance, and her ecstatic smile,
This room is as strange
As a place I’ve never seen before.
Here’s a link to the POMprompt that led to this poem:
