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.