Margaret Going Home

She stared at me with vacant blue eyes, from a wrinkled little face, capped with white frizzy hair. A bit of lunch stuck to her bottom lip. Finally she spoke.

 Everyone is packed and ready to go.

 Go where, asked I. Go where?

 Home, home - was her quick reply.

 And you, are you packed and ready to go too?

 No, not me, she shot back.

 I paused…letting silence have its wonderful place.

 Margaret, where is home? – I wondered aloud.

 I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.