At home: A poem

Katrina Fadrilan /Staff

The familiar comfort lingers,

amid the throng of foreign faces, the flood of strangeness.

So during lonely days, I bring old intimacies in a haze.

Oh, I can sense Mom’s supple hand,

smell the citrus of the Camry, harken the hum of the city,

the tickled taste of cherries or the flitter of amber canaries,

— things I love, latched into my mind’s mausoleum.

But as I walk on, through the lavished green, over the hidden ravine,

no longer am I adrift in an exotic

land, nor invisible amongst the bright and grand


All that is here becomes the familiar,

where I sigh at the serenity of the silver Tower and its chiming hours,

Whirring through a loop of friends,

I hail the mornings of fresh elation, with the be

ating of Gold and Royal pulsation.

Passion, ambition, ideas buzz through the glades, bringing a thought that I cannot evade:

Here is home.


Contact Katrina Fadrilan at [email protected] and follow her on Twitter at @katfadrilanDC.