I Am Home

Like a tree in the woods, 
I am home to so much. 

I am home to giddy exhaustion from a long train ride and a plastic flute of champagne.
To the lights of the Eiffel tower through drooping eyelashes and grass stains on back pockets. 

I am home to unruly honeysuckle bushes and pink neon lights through roll up blinds.
To the comings and goings of colorful berets, expensive art and muffled salon gossip.

I am home to secret spots beneath the bridge and unexpected friendships. 
To fresh tomatoes with a pinch of salt and heels lost to cobblestone streets. 

I am home to three layers of clothing and six Natty Lights on a school night.
To the fierce understanding shared through genes and moments after midnight. 

I am home to uncomfortable bike seats and healing conversations over 98 rock. 
To a shot of fireball from the gas station and TV light in a dark hotel room.

I am home to the taste of salty tears in Terminal 2 and perfectly long layovers at LAX.
To the woman who grew me in her belly and to the woman who grew her. 

I am home to blue-stained wooden bar stools and a broken retractable range hood. 
To scrambled eggs with Nature’s Seasoning and a steady growing Sunday porch crowd.

I am home to mosquito bites on dangling legs and sharing red wine from the bottle. 
To unwavering blue eyes and the certainty of meeting a long-lost friend. 

I am home to red pleather booths and the last sip of a peanut butter milkshake.
To one vanilla beer for downhill walks home and the late-night frenzy of cockroaches. 

I am home to a northern facing screened in porch and coffee stains on a wobbly bistro table. 
To blue robin eggs tucked deep in a rose bush and a muddy bay breeze. 

I am home to an onerous wooden door and fresh baked waffle cones through a loft window.  
To a spiral journal with the pages ripped out and a camo gas station sweatshirt. 

I am home to the wrong string on the ukulele and red dust on my only sneakers. 
To a rock of ancestral secrets and the morning sun turning two sets of green eyes yellow. 

I am home to dandelions in grass that should've been cut and duck tape on a window screen. 
To a thrift store wind chime and a cold Corona in a dog-chewed koozie. 

I am home to my reflection with freckles on a floor mattress and matching pinkie toes. 
To rehearsed basement choreography and best kept secrets. 

I am home to moments and memories lost forever and new ones yet to come. 
To the deeply connected roots of time and a single budding fruit. 

Like the trees in the woods, 
I am home to so much. 
 
I yearn to share my vessel,
In life and in death. 
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