Ilka Scobie


When we speak of home,
metaphors careen from square footage
to familial longing
From real estate envy
to yearning for a room of one’s own.

In a settler’s nation,
cities rise upon stolen lands,
Home-less-ness equates
those without shelter as less than
those for whom a key unlocks
a personal place, somewhere safe

Home, like love can be elusive
Expensive, exhausting,
exhilarating, existential,
Home as habitat, haven
Nomad’s respite
Nester’s retreat
During a pandemic, where we go to isolate
During sleep, so nightmares can turn to dreams.

To Grow Old

This body, in which we live
An instrument of pleasure
to give and receive
this heart, these eyes, our feet
and hands
taken for granted, as the rising sun

We begin, smooth fleshed with strong teeth
Heart caged in protective bone
No matter, how or where we live
Our bodies are our home

We smoke, we drink, carelessly copulate
We drug, we abuse, we play with fate
When young, experience is what we crave
To grow old, you must be lucky and brave

Ilka Scobie, an associate editor of LiVE Mag! is a native New Yorker, poet and art critic. She has written extensively for artnet and currently contributes to London's Artlyst. Recent poems have appeared in Poetry in Performance, Vanitas, and here/there. She was also Deputy Editor of Cover Magazine.