The Freshwater co-op car park
is a long way from home.
Everything is these days –
home is a distant thing,
a concept I can’t wrap
my head round, no matter how hard I try.
Every rolling field, combine rumbling
by, every hay bale and tractor
every pebble on the beach
is a postcard from home
that I can’t ignore.
An old tattered paperback,
words jumping off the page
familiar characters and faces on the screen
are like a blanket wrapping
themselves around me, linking me
back to home, an unwritten
postcard that doesn’t need
to be spoken aloud.