Today’s prompt takes us to our comfort zone – home. Write about home past or present – yours or someone else’s. There’s home plate, home base, home run… anything home will do.
Come Home (Sonnet to Immigrants and Refugees) So, at what point does one decide to flee the land where fruit and spice speak Grandma’s tongue? Where generations of their family breathe music, art, and song as through shared lung? This land (their land) where memories are made: The land that births their children’s love of life, where laughter laughs, and prayers-in-sync are prayed, with rooted norms for husband and for wife. At what point does their home feel foreign-born, so much so that they have no choice but leave? How long ‘til all their colors wilt war-torn? How long until their soul does naught but grieve? At what point can one let go of what was, to feel at home in land of unlike flaws? © Marie Elena Good, 2022
THE HOME YOUR GENERATIONS ONLY KNEW An unfamiliar place with no trace of anything you can recall. So many thoughts and ideas given birth as your mind unearths sorrow with little hope for a tomorrow. Webs cobbled in fine silk milking memories from misty midnight menageries. Windows to the world, a soulless place replacing what once was held dear, here where love blossomed and generations of sons and daughters grew in tune. Airy, left in decadent decay – a shell of better days ghosts of confiscated youth ripped from the grip our longing hearts by upstart degenerates and renegades where as children we once played. Zombied now and denigrated to wait for a wrecking ball or an overhaul. In dreams you find your mind returning, yearning for what long ago was your domain. In dreams you can certainly go home again, but why would you want to? © Walter J. Wojtanik – 2022