The pale golden warmth Of the low-watt bulb Barely pierces black On a pitch-dark night Yet it flares so loud In my nostalgia Kept safe in my soul
*
The way home is stenciled in my senses. Soil, grass, coconuts, plantains; Sky, sea, breeze-- all soaked into me Just like it was on my mother
*
That's the home of my childhood. And in that home is my mother-- my north. I see her haloed in the warm glow of a light bulb. But home doesn't glow like that no more.
Mind telling me about your childhood home?
What scent takes you back there?
Image by Steve Dietrich from Pixabay
THANK YOU FOR READING
I Wish You Miracles.
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The smell of home… de la casa Madre.. fry jacks with fry beans.. the scent of rain upon the dust.. black fruit cakes at christmas…mango season… the scent of love and warmth and the feeling that , there, all is well.. the smell of the freshly cut, green , green grass of home…
This is beautiful Selma.💜 Home as child so long ago…. I don’t know a particular smell but the feeling was safe warm and love. 💜
Home should be those beautiful feelings for all children.
Thanks so very much for reading and commenting, dear Willow. Sending good vibes your way. Xo 🤗
Thank you and sending you the same 💜💜
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So beautiful write & share smell of home memories poem.
So happy this spoke to you. Each house smell different. We learn to love the scent in ours.
Thanks for reading. XoXo
Really learn to love….
Selma, hi, I was just revisiting this beautiful poem of yours, and I wonder if you’d allow me to post it as a reblog at some point in the future – no pressure, of course! Please let me know.
Thanks!
David
Well—that would be just the biggest honor. Yes, and thanks so much, dear David. Arigatou xo🙇🏽♀️
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A beautiful poem Selma! I was deeply moved! xoxo
Thanks, Carol Anne. It warms me to know it moved you.
Thanks for being here my friend. Xoxo 📧 😘