4. W.I.H.E. Festival: Re-Member - Juliet Millican - Brighton, England

 Home

 

Home is

The crook in your shoulder, under your right arm, where I lay my head when sleep doesn’t come.

The bath, where I am on those evenings when you get in later than me, 

And come through to catch up on the day.

 

The short, striped curtains that I draw in the morning, sleepy on the Hymer’s soft shelf,

To reveal some new landscape, our next adventure

from the safety of our bed on wheels.

 

The car, waiting at the airport pick up spot, when I come back after too long a flight and too many days away.

And then the lurch to the left it makes as it comes up the pot holed road

To the house, changed by new plant growth that has sprung up since I was here.

 

And the house, our house, built by our own hands, to grow our own family in, 

from which to send them out, one by one, into the world.

And welcome them back in when that world gets too tough.

 

Home, its struggles and its triumphs,

Roots and connectedness,

A sense of belonging, 

Of being part of

You.

Remember

 

Remember when we were

Close and connected, 

Could reach out and touch, hug when we greeted 

And again when we left?

 

Remember anticipation?

Looking forward and planning?

When you could bump into friends in Gaudi’s cathedral

Not knowing they were there. 

 

Remember when travel

Meant flying, across borders?

When arrivals had delays, of minutes or hours

Instead of two weeks.

 

Remember when to work

You’d leave home in the mornings

For offices, colleges, colleagues and meetings

With people in rooms

 

Remember when we ‘d go

Out drinking and dancing?

To cinemas, restaurants, café’s or pubs

And paid them with cash?

 

Remember when sneezing

Was really just sneezing

Not hiding a threatening, death sentencing curse

With a mask?

 

Remember when health

Was taken for granted,

Like hope was and trust was and life was

And fun?