home coming

home coming

coming home is as close to time-travel as i may ever get. the nostalgia drips from my skin. 

it mingles with the dampness of my sweat. it seems to remember the cool swimming hole, & the blue t-shirts. 

my body remembers more than my mind. a smell, a sound, the sensation of an embrace. 

impressions linger longer & i mull the taste of home over in my mouth. it is sweet. 

i can’t help but miss the familiarity. i can’t help but miss the ease. i can’t help but miss 

you. don’t wait for me, at the top of those stairs. i’ll be there when i can, it’s only a matter of time. 

Sophie Nankivell, Poetry Editor

home coming

coming home is as close to time-travel as i may ever get. the nostalgia drips from my skin. 

it mingles with the dampness of my sweat. it seems to remember the cool swimming hole, & the blue t-shirts. 

my body remembers more than my mind. a smell, a sound, the sensation of an embrace. 

impressions linger longer & i mull the taste of home over in my mouth. it is sweet. 

i can’t help but miss the familiarity. i can’t help but miss the ease. i can’t help but miss 

you. don’t wait for me, at the top of those stairs. i’ll be there when i can, it’s only a matter of time. 

Sophie Nankivell, Poetry Editor