Home before you know it

It has always been home, this place,
where the tea is forever steeping on the back burner
and the smell of lobster is on my hands
after I picked one up for supper
from the local poissonnerie 

It has always called out to me, this place,
where I watch the moon rise over the strait,
its cragged peaks and canyons seemingly just a short dory ride away
and its light reflecting off the water,
as if to illuminate the path

It has always fascinated, this place,
where the waves break endlessly on the ever-changing shoreline,
sometimes as a gentle invitation,
other times as an angry, vengeful god
bent on keeping the local harvesters at bay

It has always been welcoming, this place,
where two languages meet,
sometimes even in the same sentence,
and people call you “Honey”, “Dear”, and “Darling” as if they mean it –
because they do

It has always beckoned, this place,
not as a temptress with ill intent
but as a mother hen gathering her brood beneath her, cooing her love.
It has always been home, this place,
before I ever even knew it