Homesick, by Carol Ann Duffy

Lent, Day 5

When we love, when we tell ourselves we do,
we are pining for first love, somewhen,
before we thought of wanting it. When we rearrange
the room we end up living in, we are looking
for first light, the arrangement of light,
that time, before we knew to call it light.

Or talk of music, when we say
we cannot talk of it, but play again
C major, A flat minor, we are straining
for first sound, what we heard once,
then, in lost chords, wordless languages.

What country do we come from? This one?
The one where the sun burns
when we have night? The one
the moon chills; elsewhere, possible?

Why is our love imperfect,
music only echo of itself,
the light wrong?

We scratch in dust with sticks,
dying of homesickness
for when, where, what.

The poems last week were about "engaging with Lent"; this week they are about "expressing our longings" - to register where, what or who it is that we feel homesick for, or as they say it in Brazil - saudades.

This 'first love', 'first light' and 'first sound' could be about our first life in the womb - which is why here you have my daughter with our first grandchild. But maybe it is more to do with what St Augustine said: "Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee".

A busy day, with an old friend from Brazil coming to stay. My Mum seems to be going downhill again, so spent a long time getting some liquid down her. So tired at dancing class that couldn't seem to hold the steps in my brain. I do have "saudades" for a simpler lifestyle...