I’ve been away

from

home

for

just a week,

not yet

unpacked

after arriving

so late.

Returning

home

is a constant,

wherever

we go

whenever

we go.

We travel

and seek

home

somewhere

else.

Eighty degrees

on the east coast

in October

does not feel

like home.

Election

denier as 

Speaker

of the

House

does not feel

like home.

My pillows

and bed

are insufficient 

to comfort

my anxiety

about losing  

home

as I know

it.

I don’t know

how

to be

at home

in a burning

world

that seems

to be

a matter

of arson.

I was 

always

fearful

of fire—

of getting

burned.

Arsonists

are everywhere.

And yet,

some flames

are diminishing.

The criminal

confessions

mount, 

and I still

have

the idea

that we 

can return

home

and renovate

it;

upgrading

and updating

for better

protection

against

destructive

forces

that prove

to surface

and multiply

without 

intentional

safeguarding.

Meanwhile,

we can 

return home

to ourselves and

to each other

creating

home

in the face

of arson

and a world

on fire.

Returning 

home

is a constant—

even in

your house.

Being

home

is intentional. 

You

are

home.

Welcome

home.