My First Home

I went back home,
my first home,
false memories,
of the street we lived on.
Fragments magnified in my memory,
it seemed so small.
I wept longing for the voices
of my life,
the scents,
the love.
We were uprooted
before my roots could anchor deep.
A tree needs roots to grow,
a tree needs roots to fly.
Out of the fertile soil
I was pulled
my roots shivered in the wind
my roots withstood the force.
The light made me grow,
the love made me shine,
like poems dancing in my soul,
like angel wings,
embracing me,
encouraging my spirit to soar.