Saudade By Jen Rose

Like ghosts become flesh for the first time
we came to the land of the living
tasted the bread
sipped the wine
spoke the language of belonging.

In a tent on a hill walled by green
we gathered for one more meal.
I watched twilight
dance with candlelight
and breathed in a hint of truly alive.

Can you be sick for a home you’ve never seen?
Sometimes the curtain flutters,
and I catch a glimpse
of a fawn in the shadow
that bids me to follow.

I can’t. Not yet.
But I am coming home.