A Different Kind of Home
A poem by Sarah James/Leavesley

A Different Kind of Home

At night, lights dimmed, I snuggle up
with a patch of sky as my dreamscape
and duvet.

Now the camper van
is my snail shell, I’m hammocked
by the world’s motion around me.

I sway to the wind, and traffic whooshes
past unheeded. Trees creak, twigs knock,
leaves whisper.

Rooftop rain taps out
a slow-fast-slow melody of holding on
and letting go, a spell of spill and flow.

Inside, a cocoon of sleep. My pulse drips
lonely stars, then dawn birdsong, as the dark
tips back

towards day. Soft light peers
over the skyline, then slips through a gap
in the curtains and into my heart.

About the Author:

Sarah James/Leavesley is a prize-winning poet, fiction writer, journalist and photographer. Her latest collections  include Blood Sugar, Sex, Magic (Verve Poetry Press, 2022) and RAIN FALLING (Wigtown Festival Company, 2023). She also runs V. Press, publishing poetry and flash fiction chapbooks. Websites: www.sarah-james.co.uk and poetry & flash fiction that is very very.

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