Dedicated to impxria from DA, because her poetry needs more acknowledgement.
First sight, of tired but elated faces,
Bright light and new feelings and hot, cold, hurt, comfort
Home is not home until you were, and you will be, and you are here.
First touch, gentle and careful, the brush of fingers
The whisper of mouths, the warmth of arms,
Tugging and holding, the sensation of hearts beating in excitement.
First smiles dimpling childishly rosy cheeks,
Pressing insistently against frowns and clenched hands,
Lighting their way from eyes to mouth and to soul.
First words springing unbidden like shooting sparks,
Small and almost unseen, but bringing forth a flickering flame that surges
Into a bright blaze unhindered by wind and rain.
First step towards the future. Tiny, unsure feet resting reluctantly,
Rising, lowering, advancing – Stumbling and falling, without a doubt,
But you get up and you tremble, knowing failure and rejecting it, and you push on again and again and again –
First things are not always life and laughter.
First conversation, first friend, first teacher –
First enemy, first confrontation –
First meltdown, first tantrum, first lie –
First confession, first date, first betrayal, first consolation –
First baptism, first celebration, first mourning –
But home is not home until you were, and you will be, and you are here.
First things are not always forever, not always waiting, not always fresh and exciting, not always unexpected –
Not always what you can lean on for support.
Not always what you can learn from and remember for your whole life.
But this love will be.
Second love, mother and father, brother and sister,
Tying and binding and squeezing and strengthening
Hands on your shoulders, gripping your fingers pressing against your back
Anchoring and reminding and holding, and being
Hands from above, guiding paths and protecting
Home is not home until you see what you were,
Change what you are,
Acknowledge what you will become.