Late afternoon in the valley, the trees
wear halos. Then twilight steals the sun,
kitchen lights blink on like stars,
and coming home is a sigh
and the smile of someone waiting.
Your day is told in half sentences
and nods and questions answered —
nothing new, but new enough to tell again.
After supper, after gin rummy and pages
turning and the rhythmic click of a sweater
growing row by row, bed greets you
like a childhood friend, and sleep
keeps company with the blue black sky
and the owl’s whispered flight.

– Sarah Russell
First published by Your Daily Poem
For Poets United Poetry Pantry
Painting source

38 thoughts on “Home

  1. A lot happens in a day — the world rises and falls everywhere and for all — yet homecomings are ever the most personal, private and intimate of motions, crossing an immense threshold between Out There and Home. This is woven so dearly of that inward fabric, loved it as much as I love coming home from work. Best is when there are two parties who agree.


  2. I do so love your lovely warm and comforting words Sarah – they make me feel snug and safe.
    “…and the rhythmic click of a sweater
    growing row by row” – lovely lovely lovely!
    Anna :o]


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