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  • Writer's picturewhit

HOMECOMING

the sound of my dad’s guitar

playing his favorite chords

the typing of my mom’s fingers

going through family records


the smell of the ceramics studio

full of the kiln, dust and glaze

the running home to the smell

of pot roast on a Sunday


the touch of the smooth keys

on the piano I hated to play

the cool breeze with your

eyes closed and ocean’s spray


the taste of thick, cheesy grits

that mom made when I was sad

or grandma’s cookies that she

loved to bake for granddad


but what feels the most like home

is the sound of your laugh

the touch of your hand

and the taste of your lips

that make you my man

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