Some say that to come home
You need to take the long route,
Circle the world to realise
Home was the haven of familiarity.
Halfway across the world,
I’d missed home too.
Coming back wasn’t setting down my bag
And blissfully embracing the familiarity
Of ten years in a single place.
It was the realisation that Home
Was no longer where I felt at home.
I thought I’d found it.
I thought I could plant myself
In the soil of spatial stability,
But I was wrong.
What’s it like to have a stable sense of home?
All I want is to uproot myself,
Give myself the illusion of agency
As I set out to look for permanence.