after my afternoon nap. I wake
to my heart yearning for home.
“Home is such a desired feeling,
a security blanket so easily taken away.”
To my heart yearning for home:
I tell you there is no home; it is nostalgia,
a security blanket so easily taken away.
My mother uses brother as an emotional security blanket.
I tell you there is no home; it is nostalgia.
Mother having only a few hours with brother is her nostalgia.
My mother uses brother as an emotional security blanket.
Do I have a support blanket? Does brother?
Mother having only a few hours with brother as her nostalgia
makes me wonder if “nostalgia” is what she would call it; his death.
Do I have a security blanket? Does brother?
Let me take another nap and walk in Grandmother’s garden, brother.
—
Isabel Hoin is an emerging poet and student at Old Dominion University where she is a Perry Morgan fellow in their MFA program. She works at The Muse Writers Center in Norfolk, VA, teaching people of all ages the art of poetry. Her work is featured or is forthcoming in Wild Roof Journal, Chariot Press, The Fool’s World, Loud Coffee Press, and others. She is a Lancaster, PA native and misses the corn fields daily.
