Upon Returning Home

Originally Posted: Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Upon Returning Home

I sit surrounded by the remnants of my half-unpacked suitcase,
sending gratitude as I load the wash.
I savor each memory:
the clothes that covered my vulnerability:
the ones that kept me warm in fierce winds,
and kept me dry in hail and storm;
this one gave me comfort to sit and write;
this other eased my walk in contemplation and stillness;
this sweater, lovingly knitted by hands that never knew me,
brought me home to my body day after day;
my favorite shirt lulled me to sleep;
and my new knit slippers padded the way to coffee and companionship. 
My gloves, my hat, my hiking shoes, went with me in silence to monastic ruins and holy places;
and my yoga pants danced with me in embodied prayers.
These clothes hold secret longings and discoveries,
poems written and yet to write.
They hold the love felt deep within my body.
They  hold the sky, the sea, the wind, and the earth.
I wash them clean but hold on to the holy memories.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2017


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