{"id":113411,"date":"2022-06-25T17:06:28","date_gmt":"2022-06-25T21:06:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/?p=113411"},"modified":"2022-06-25T17:06:28","modified_gmt":"2022-06-25T21:06:28","slug":"hour-8-home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2022\/06\/hour-8-home\/","title":{"rendered":"Hour 8: Home"},"content":{"rendered":"

This is a little bit of a story, a little it of a poem<\/span><\/p>\n

a little bit of my mom’s chai that I can never get right,<\/span><\/p>\n

a little bit of my dads books, those I always got right,<\/span><\/p>\n

but sometimes they would have really wobbly pages,<\/span><\/p>\n

because my mom threw them in the water once because he was home late,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Just a bucket of water, that ate\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

all the words<\/span><\/p>\n

she never said anything to us though, her children,<\/span><\/p>\n

I think she suspected he loved his books more?<\/span><\/p>\n

So someone must love us more<\/span><\/p>\n

Except, love is tricky, and muddy,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And dusty, and I\u2019m allergic<\/span><\/p>\n

To dust\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So loving me was never easy\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And hiding that was very difficult, I suspect\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And if nothing else was hidden, I hid<\/span><\/p>\n

Under books and musics, and broken container lids<\/span><\/p>\n

That were always too familiar but never enough<\/span><\/p>\n

Like pain is when you grow old with it\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I could never sit,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And so I sailed myself away, as one does\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Trust<\/span><\/p>\n

The process, it\u2019s so in baking and cooking, and sewing, and sweeping<\/span><\/p>\n

None of which I ever learnt\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I guess then my fingers were almost always burnt\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And no other chai tasted like home,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Except \u2018home to me is wherever you are\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

So home should be, where I am?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

But I remembered too late that I never liked chai<\/span><\/p>\n

Until I left. <\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is a little bit of a story, a little it of a poem a little bit of my mom’s chai that I can never get right, a little bit of my dads books, those I always got right, but sometimes they would have really…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":930,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-113411","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/113411","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/930"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=113411"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/113411\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":113419,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/113411\/revisions\/113419"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=113411"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=113411"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=113411"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}