Home – By Lisa Zoe Lawston

An old blue hat box with a water stain where years back I rest my glass. I lift the top. Odds and ends. Yellowed papers scribbled with drifting thoughts for future engagement.  Cards inked in childlike writing “Happy birthday, mama, I love you!” Tears. At the bottom of the well, floats my poetry magnet “home” staring back at me. I cup it in my hand and fold my fingers. The realization washes over me; I’ve carried this magnet around for fifteen years like an amulet. Hopeful.  It used to cling to my refrigerator door in Amherst along with enough words to tell this story in a hundred different ways. An icy blur of rage, sticky packing tape, weeping, crumpled newspaper, torn photographs, constant relocations, half-filled cardboard boxes, joblessness, bubble-wrap, poverty, judgment, the devastating addiction and untimely loss of my first child, yet somehow this remains. “Home.”  I still hold it… Continue reading