Home Not Home. A poem by Catherine Kay

And so, you called.
And the raspy sadness in your voice
caught me unawares.

If I could
I’d rise, Cuculann-like,
And leap
2 metres at a time
Flip- flopping
2 K after 2 K
Criss-crossing counties
Until I reached your grimy, city door.

There, I would feed you pizza and hot chocolate
There, I would hear each poignant, essential woe.
There, forgiveness would sit between us
Shy and strong
Fat with generosity.

There, in those concrete confines
Whilst the city sirens still screeched

I would resist the urge to fold you in my Bridget cloak.
To strap your defeated body on my back.
To soar with you to the golden hills of

I would hear your words at last

I would cut from you
the dull, hessian binds of Home

Offer you instead
the silk- shot threads of Belonging.

From this Pandemic’s Peninsula,
we would attempt to begin again …….


Catherine is a part-time dabbler in writing , living and working in Donegal.

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