I’ve never fully understood the definition of “home’:
Is it the peach colored sanctuary
Where I spent my first ten years in creative reverie
In a clouded bedroom that held me like a hug?
Is it the brick left lodged in my chest after we moved
Pieces of cement held together by my parents’ voices?
Which building: My mother’s apartment or my father’s?
Now that I’m settled and no one tells me where to go
And on which weekend to go there,
Is it this hard, rock roof, this place I never want to
leave?
With one toothbrush, one pillow, one set of pajamas;
possessions
That never get lost on the highway between dominions,
That I replace when I want to with however much money
I want to spend in whatever color I want to look at-
Sometimes I think home can just be defined as:
The place where I am most in control.
