I miss the place of my childhood, 

My teenage years and twenty-something days. 

I cannot live there again, but the place holds my heart—

The echoes and memories remain.

I miss my dad in the kitchen. 

His pancakes and bacon. 

My dog and I playing, cuddling on the floor.

Perched on bar stools, talking 

Until mom woke up. 

I miss the logging road’s winding trail, 

Sprinting the steepest part after my dog, 

Or loping my horse up the big hill. 

My dog fishing for rocks in the creek, 

Forever chasing the sunset at the end. 

I miss my room: 

Bookshelves and art.

The bed, cradling tears and laughter, 

Angst and repression of family drama.

My dog watching, sleeping, as I study.

I miss life there. 

Sushi on the beach, 

Late nights at the barn, 

Gardening, barefoot with music in my ears, 

Hearing Dad’s truck before he enters the driveway,  

Laundry on the line, 

Trail rides with friends, 

My dog soaring over the fence after his ball, 

My sweet nephew and niece. 

My heart aches for the Island fields of green, yellow or white:

Lush grass with the first sugars of spring, 

Golden rounds of hay at the end of summer, 

Perfect cover of snow as it blankets winter. 

The country roads always led me home, 

The ocean swallowed my thoughts, 

The forests absorbed my emotions, 

The people: my joy and sorrow.

Leaving it behind feels like I’m lost, 

No identity, no grounding, no place called home. 

A wanderer,

Compass needle spinning aimlessly, 

Circling the same trees, 

Desperate for escape, yet comforted in chronic detachment. 

The city here is cold, contrasting sharply with the winter of my former community:

Harsh grey lines of concrete, 

Headaches from blinding lights, 

Foreign towers of corporate buildings. 

Only God’s beauty is here:

Sunrise and sunset, 

Snow on the mountain, 

The kisses of a horse, 

Hugs from a close friend. 

Finding peace seems futile:

The cozy rental is not home. 

The friends did not stay. 

Horses are statements of wealth, not companions.

The absence of a dog’s hug after work. 

Seeking security seems unattainable: 

I get lost all the time. 

No familiar neighbors while shopping. 

Homeless faces I cannot recognize. 

Facebook groups that do not create 

family out of strangers. 

Grasping for belonging seems worthless: 

Friends leave or fade.  

I say “at home” but I do not know where that is. 

There are no safe places—only familiar ones. 

It’s not the loss and gain of things. 

It’s that I cannot go back to what I had, 

And no familiarity in moving forward. 

So I just feel like I lose.

Does the longing leave or stay? 

Is it the familiarity I yearn for,

Or the goodness apart from it? 

Did the chaos burn into my brain as comfort?

Am I only missing familiar fears and anxiety? 

Does this wanderer find peace in the newness? 

Or does the loss remain, 

While the good shifts around it? 

Will I return to the place that haunts me? 

Or will the ache of loneliness and discomfort settle 

into familiarity? 

Did I trade past scars for future wounds, 

Or does displacement settle through time, 

Reshaping, softening into acceptance?