Home Is Where... Poem by Francie Lynch

When I turned the key on the house
I anticipated my return.
A protracted absence ensues.
The air behind is trapped, absorbed my everything.
Heavy and lush as the garden.
Feet-weary carpets rebound.
Plants watered, counters subdued.
Traps baited in favorite niches.
Spiders already weaving like a sweatshop.
The kettle will sing again.
My legs will be elevated.
Home again from thousands of miles,
Planning my next getaway.