Home Sweet Home <br />Is stuck crooked to her suitcase <br />And worn into the soles of her shoes. <br />Her timepiece is always correct <br />Somewhere. <br />Her freckles have names like Venice and Chang Mai <br />Each with its own story to tell, <br />Her camera now more an extension of herself, <br />A third eye with mega pixel vision and better memory. <br /> <br />Her shoulders have felt the weight of the world <br />Lifting children who smile through hunger <br />As they beg for candy in the street <br />And giggle at redheads on the bus. <br /> <br />Her home is quiet proof <br />That the world can indeed coexist peacefully <br />Together in the china cabinet. <br /> <br />Growing restless in familiarity, <br />An atlas rests on her nightstand <br />To inspire dreams of another language <br />Any other language. <br />She is not running away <br />But running toward. <br /> <br />When she returns from each adventure <br />Her magic bag unfurls, <br />Exploding with culture hardly contained by nylon walls, <br />Like Felix the Cat <br />Or giddy Santa out of season. <br />Each toy and trinket a proud piece of that place <br />And gentle salute to those hands <br />That not only need to create, <br />But want to. <br /> <br />And as the little ones explore these toys from space, <br />They too will hear a voice that says, “come” <br />And someday surrender to the wanderlust <br />That has ripened her smile and her soul.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wanderlust/
