Homesick

"...Why is our love imperfect,
Music only an echo of itself,
The light wrong?

We scratch in dust with sticks,
Dying of homesickness
For when, where, what."

- Carol Ann Duffy

"This poem speaks to a sense of feeling profoundly and existentially homesick, but not knowing what we are homesick for." - I identify completely, but if it wasn't for this book of poems and the idea of finding a photo to go with the poem, I would never have slowed down enough to recognize this feeling. Now what?

I tried to think of something in my life that conjured up a feeling of warmth and security, of being at home - something that I could feel homesick for. It was hard, but I came up with...my husband, my cat, my Bible and BuonGiorno!