The Farthest Place from “Home”

The other day I went running.
The sky was gray,
and the wind hit my face with tiny warm droplets of rain
Dutch weather has always been my favorite

I can remember running through park de Paauw
The dimly lit forest
Chartreuse moss covered hills, toy bridges and WWII bunkers
The long staircase that led up to the gazebo
And the fallen tree where I had my first kiss

And I remember the Meijendel dunes,
when we used to bike to the beach and stop at the farm to eat pannenkoeken
Stroop, powdered sugar and Liptonice
Horses neighing in their stables while we sat in the sun under an umbrella
The smell of honeysuckle and sunscreen

And when our stomachs were full, we were back on our bikes,
toward the end of the path, where we sprinted down cliffs of sand into
The cold North Sea
Have you ever noticed how every beach in the world
has a totally different collection of seashells?

And I remember arriving in an antique horse drawn trolley
To dance at the Kurhaus in Schevegingen
My familiar beach town
with its boardwalk that stretched for kilometers
and where you could watch old Dutch gentlemen eat entire herring in one bite

But we always returned to Bloemcamplaan—
my quaint little cobblestone street,
where cows drank from the canal and stood watch by the bus stop
Huge old trees and my white brick house
Just four years of growing up…

Where is home?