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Rachel

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Author’s Note: Reflecting on where I’ve lived and the meaning of home

Content warning: Personal reflection

I remember sitting on the orange stool

In the back room of the first house.

Sticky from the heat,

Keeping out of the way of boxes.

I remember a bedroom under the eaves

With the sea crashing in the distance.

The cat climbing in the window

After teasing the dog next door.

I remember the cold and the drafts

In the living room of a stable.

An old coal fire competing

With the outside Winter frost.

I remember making a new home

In a tired University room;

Learning to adult, learning to live,

Choosing friends for life.

I remember the first flat I rented

Four rooms in a Victorian house

Strange shapes and sizes

With donated furniture and love.

I remember the first flat I owned

With its four rooms in a

Brand new build

And the nearby fish and chippy.

I remember the house I owned

Before this one

With the spare bedroom

I painted all by myself.

I’ve lived in these rooms now

Longer than I’ve lived

Any other place.

It’s only bricks and mortar,

but its home.

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