Poem of Home By Sofia Laguna Rigolon
Home is body. It is feeling skin against your skin, the smell of someone familiar. It is
my husband’s arms around me. It is my baby tumbling inside me. Sometimes, home
means stretching. It means expanding like water. Other times, it is freezing in one
place- under the covers.
Home is the smell of rain on asphalt- or coffee in the morning. Sometimes it is even
the smell of dirty laundry, or a rotten banana peel in your lunch box. It’s the diffuser
in the living room, or dog stench right after vacuuming the carpet.
Home is clean- when you make it clean, and dirty when you stop picking up. It is the
new chair in the corner, and the chipped coffee table in the living room. It is the
unopened mail on the counter, and boxes full of re-read love notes, birthday and
Home is mind. When it is open to new opportunities, or flirting with past ones. It is
finding a plane ticket stub between the pages of a book you’ve never read, and the
accordion folder with papers called “documents” you assume you’ll need again
Home is the places you stay for a few days, or maybe even years. The small
comforts- the damp towel on the floor- pajamas under the pillow.
Home are the places you also leave behind. The places that become memories, or
unused keys on a keychain.
Home stands still, home moves with you. Home is breath in your body, or its escape.
It is structure- building, drywall, linoleum counter- and it is the lack of it: The trees,
grass, and things that move with the seasons.
Home is a full range of emotion. A favorite song on the radio. Turning onto a street
lined with great trees and children playing outside.
Home is the sound of your mother’s voice and your father’s laugh. The sound of the
kitchen floor when it creaks the same way it always has.
Sometimes, home is not for you to keep. It is for you to give. With your warmth,
touch, and light kisses on the nose.
I know my home as everything. As I have left home, and found it so many other
places. I feel myself as home as my baby stretches inside me.
I am home. She is home. We are home.
Home is what I carry with me and dare to hold on to.