Sick from chaos

Homesickness to me is not always

a particular memory or place or person,

but a debilitating, sneaky sadness

that creeps up on weekday nights.

Seeing humans hug closely, reverently,

falling into one another, going soft,

and being jealous.

Watching the chaos of a kitchen

that isn’t mine but feels like it should be

because the noise and eavesdropping

is so familiar, my vision goes blurry.

Hearing banter and wanting to join in

on what is the primary form of communication

in the house I grew up in, knowing that

every word is laced with love and

no joke can stop forgiveness from creeping in.

Smelling, for a second, fresh air

that reminds me of mountains and

glacial rivers and shared gossip on hikes.