In poem #609 the narrator speaks of returning home after a long absence, afraid of who she might find thereand fearing what might have changed. We can imagine as she peeks through the windows that memories flash and collide in the rooms as she sees them, but now they look strange to her. As her hand trembles on the door latch, she is confronted both by the past and the current reality of her fear, which ultimately causes her to run away.
At the age of 16, I chose to leave and not return home, literally, as one has to do at times, in situations that call for moving on. An act viewed as rebellion, but necessary for self-preservation, I became my own drift net, moving with the currents of time, unanchored for periods, but catching what I needed to survive. Of course I carried baggage, as we all do. Most of it, contained figurative sweaters of favorite and sentimental memories, purposefully plucked out and packed. Dirty laundry left behind. Yet no one leaves a place with just what they choose to take. All of us are marked, for better or worse, by the people in our lives and experiences that sometimes lie hidden in secret compartments. We may discover them later in life and connect them or not, but nevertheless they remain.
Since my initial departure all those years ago, my life has been reframed many times. As youth some of us make questionable choices, but that big one I made so many years ago has never been regretted. Since that day, my homes have not been structures, but the people I have loved and hold in my heart. Home is wherever they are.
