On Returning Home

A return home is always a mix
of the wholly unchanged and the new -
the stopped clock remains stopped at six;
still as full sits the pot of shampoo.

A dishcloth has dried by the sink,
while a spider has died in the bath.
Bulbs left unopened now glow
in spring colours alongside each path.

And indoors on the sill, where we left
an orchid with buds fat and green,
petals unfurled in our absence,
in crimson and yellow sateen.

A return home is always a mix
of things changing and staying the same,
but a home's still a home when it's empty:
we return, we relax, we reclaim.

© Celia Warren 2020