What is home? Where is home? Is it where you park the car and watch TV? Or someplace else? What words describe it?
I’m feeling homesick for New Orleans. My poem, My No-Name Island Home was published in Coal City Review. I hope you enjoy it, and please tell me where you call home. ~ Linda Joyce
My No-Name Island Home.
Old Fort Pike stands sentry
three hundred years strong.
Lake Catherine swirls her watery gown
ruffling edges seep into canals
where bulrushes and cattails thrive.
Paths of crushed bleached oyster shells
crunch under foot
stretch side-by-side
long weather-grey docks
where shrimp trollers, houseboats, and pirogues wait.
Crab traps and casting nets rest in shade
wraparound porch offers panoramic view
solitary pelican rests on piling
seagulls soar, dive, cry,
a crusty alligator sleeps.
Breezes cool waterlogged air
flutter hair from my face
waves lap against aged seawall
stiff brine wafts to my nose
aromas of Grandma’s gumbo,
crab, shrimp, okra, andouille.
As if Katrina never raged.
~linda-joyce
Linda Joyce Contemplates 
Beautiful, Linda! Last weekend several of us were talking about leaving our childhood homes. Some folks were saddened when they left the building with all the memories. When my parents moved from their home of 47 years, I thought I’d be sad. When I drove by the old house, I felt nothing. I realized that home was my parents–not the house.
Claire,
You are a wise woman. I lived in 9 different places, including Japan by the time I was 13. The houses hold no special pull on my heart. The friendships I made remain the gems in my life. I consider myself wealthy because I have friends like you. ~ Linda Joyce
Beautiful and heart felt, Linda. We ate gumbo at a dinner party last night. Surprising and maybe not so surprising, how a food can call up a special place like New Orleans. And isnt it wonderful to know we can call any place up by feeling into the memory, so its never farther away than a thought and a moment to remember.
Bobby,
Your words are poetic. I recall your trip to New Orleans and your joy at discovering new and interesting things. Yes, a memory is only a moment away. A beautiful thing for all of us to remember ~ Linda Joyce
Powerful and beautiful, Linda. I especially like the last stanza. It really put me there. Though I’ve mourned moving from various homes, as I’ve gotten older, I agree with Claire — home is anywhere the love a person has known still exists, not the house.
Thank you, Jan for your kind words. As you know, my move to Atlanta has been…growth building in many ways. Recently, my husband asked me if I missed our old house – I don’t. Not for a second, which suprised me. What I miss are my friends and neighbors. The causual interactions and the comfort I had from knowing they were there- right next door or a short drive away. I agree, it’s not about things. It’s about the deep connections we have with those we love. ~ Linda Joyce
Description reminiscent of many coastal areas that each individual has buried in his memory. Hilton Head Island for me (and Kenny B’s French Quarter Cafe with its Gumbo & Jambalaya and Beignets!) Thanks for awakening the senses to my May remembrances in November! LOVE IT!
Jan,
When I visit Hilton Head, I’ll plan to visit Kenny B’s. Thank you for your thoughtful words. ~Linda Joyce