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My First Home
by Alicia Renkema
2/06/2013 / Poetry
My First Home
I wish I could feel your sand gushing between my toes,
your ocean's floor beneath my feet --
that frothy, breezy, salty air;
New England you haunt me:
Mellow moods and colors,
yet dramatic changes!
I love you
and I wish I were with you.
I would ask you to hold me in your arms tight tonight,
in case I would have to leave you again.
For, I always want to remember you.
Solid farm houses, pilgrims feet,
burnt orange, amber, and ruby red
Your falls taste like sweet apples to my senses.
My eyes can scarcely take in the vast water,
your variety of towering, sturdy trees,
white steepled churches,
and pinecones too numerous to count.
One day maybe I'll be back at your door --
feeling your meadowlands surround me,
seeing the leaves twirl and spin
as they fall in circles about me.
New England means freedom;
contrast and beauty;
falls clothed in colored cloaks;
steep winding roads;
stern colonial houses;
timeless Sturbridge Village;
and always the rocky ocean calling wildly
to her lonely lighthouses.
I don't know if I will ever see her again,
but I can feel her so strongly now
with my pen.
I love her
I love this part of me.
Written by Alicia Renkema -- Now 56 yrs. old, I have been writing poetry since the age of 13. Some of my work has been published in church bulletins and writer's group devotionals. I also had a critique of a high school play published in a local newspaper. I love to study nutrition & to pray.
Read more articles by Alicia Renkema
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