Poetry

Homemaker

I uncurl my toes from the carpet.

My stomach has a weight in it, cold

that rises to my throat.

It’s been there since this morning, after

I watched you hurry for the bus,

a smile lingering on your lips as I waved.

 

It only feels like home when you’re here.

When you’re not,

it’s just a place where I spend my time

running through the routines of life

without feeling I’m living any of it.

 

Home is where we will both be

in the future.

It’s hard not to jump forwards,

but rushing will only crumble

the blocks we’ve been trying to maintain for everyone else.

I know, once they’re solid,

we can claim our own, and make our own.

Our house, our homely home.