April 2, 2014

• Hometown

  my home
  was family;
  the smell of Dad’s pipe and
  Mom’s Chantilly perfume... never
  a town

  This is my second entry for murisopsis' NPM Scavenger Hunt, using prompt #2 - Hometown. Most of my poetry is free verse, but this is a cinquain, which consists of five lines with syllable counts of 2, 4, 6, 8, and 2.

  I never really had a hometown when I was growing up. My dad's job had us moving every couple of years. Even when we were in an area for longer than that, Mom was always looking for a better house. Sometimes we would move just a few blocks away; sometimes across town or to the next town over. I always wondered what it would be like to live in one place all my life and go to school with the same kids from kindergarten through high school. But not having a place I could call my hometown does not mean I didn't have a home. Mom always made whatever house we lived in a home, and by my count we lived in at least 18 houses before I moved into my first apartment at age 19. When I think of home, it's not a certain town or a particular house, but my dad taking off his shoes at the end of a long day at work, leaning back in his recliner and lighting up his pipe. Or my mom dressed up in her blue brocade frock with the matching coat for a rare dinner out at a fancy restaurant, hugging me goodnight and leaving the sweet aroma of Chantilly wafting in the air. Home was not a place, but a family, wherever we were together.

  • 11:40 pm
  • 6 Comments