Heart’s hometown (a poem)
A poem reminiscing a nomadic childhood that only now reveals itself
Firstly, THANKS and a hearty wish to each of you!
Thank you for being here and reading my words! It means the world to me.
I wish each of you a wonderful holiday season — Happy Hanukkah (sorry, a bit belatedly), Merry Christmas, and all that you celebrate or take part in. Hope the season brings joy, love and peace and much meaning in the new year ahead!
And now for a new poem…
Heart’s hometown
I remember all the houses
I’ve lived, dreamt and dreaded in.
*
New towns and tongues,
new schools and norms.
Friendships trailed
in suspension,
I scrounged for new.
Fresh allies emerged,
fortifications vaporized.
*
I don’t remember
being afraid,
just peering
into new spaces
of unfamiliar multitudes.
*
I don’t remember
being disoriented,
just repeatedly
supplying:
Where’re you from?
*
I don’t remember
sorrow at leaving,
just gathering
antidotes for stings
of refusals ahead.
*
I don’t remember
fearing new places,
just discovering
repeatedly —
How to pretend-belong.
*
Who’s to answer
for how I felt?
Those who primed
such journeys
couldn’t; for I looked
behind their backs
at their tied hands.
*
So I soothed
the gritted girl,
built her forts
without gates
showed her how to
live in bated breath
for new displacements.
###
reena | June 2023
This poem came to me this past summer and then it simmered for a while. It reminisces a nomadic childhood that only now reveals itself to me. I’m trying to paint the portrait of a child’s reactions, excitement and defenses when she goes from town to town, school to school every few years.
I grew up an Army kid, living all over India and this was my life — beautiful, exciting, privileged AND challenging for many of the same reasons. By the time I arrived in college, I’d lived in ten cities/ towns, attended seven schools and lived in about twice as many houses!
After college, no surprise, I arrived eagerly in the United States as a graduate student (at final count it was 10 schools!) and then proceeded to live in Chicago, Evanston, Cincinnati, Chicago again, and finally the Bay Area, within which I’ve lived in three cities!
It’s only now — well into my fifties, having lived in the same house for the past 17 years (shocking!) — that I look back and think about what it all meant. I see how much that nomadic life shaped me and my preferences.
I thrive on variety while cherishing the solidity of family. The new and the constant — both define me. Home is where the heart is. Yet walls don’t hold me.
I wrote more extensively about my nomadic childhood in a past post + poem, which was a search for the meaning of “home”. You can read that post here:
For years my label for myself has been musafir, which is the word for traveler in Hindi/Urdu…
~~~
I’d love your personal stories on any and all of it!
"Those who primed
such journeys
couldn’t; for I looked
behind their backs
at their tied hands."
So often when I am stuck in a situation that I know is stressful or disappointing for my children they surprise me with their empathy and their perceptiveness-- they can see when my hands are tied and the situation is beyond my control.
This poem resonates with me because my mom was an army brat, growing up all over the United States. But as an adult she settled. I only lived in two houses, only a couple of miles apart, until I went away to college. But I now live on the other side of the country from my parents and siblings.
Beautiful. We are putting our children through that experience, because we like it. I think one of them enjoys it more than the other. We hope and trust we do good with it, giving them something not many children get. But then again, it also takes some away from them. I liked the part at the wend, when you say "I thrive on variety while cherishing the solidity of family."
And I loved the poem.