Where Is Home? Poem by Adrian Flett

Lying at my mother's breast
to feed, to sleep to rest.
That was all I needed then
in the world back when
no other thought would intervene.
No place or person came in between
us then:

before then, in the womb, no recollection
of that time now, but on reflection
it was closer and better, safer
more focussed and secure than later.
The first home was the womb
a place of comfort, place of home.

When all else is quiet
there's a call at twilight
from a bird flying home to roost
makes me ask:

is home still buried at mother's breast
with shock I find, she's long since gone
left me searching out there, on my own.

So is home in my head
moving around as I'm led.
Sometimes slow to agree
just where in the world I should be
but at last learning to accept
covering over all else, for the best.