I am the backyard,
where dirt and sweat are the same,
I am homemade cooking and plasma cars.
I am the old dog Ginger, and begging my brother to play,
I’m picture frames and checkered tablecloths.
I am the apricot tree and the swimming pool,
I’m the octagon window sill overlooking the neighborhood.
I am the rope swing on the pine tree,
and kisses on my bruises,
I’m celebrations and sarcasm.
I am the library,
hours spent reading away.
I am rollerblading until it was too dark to see,
and primary songs sang loud and clear.
I am the sinless part of sin city,
pumpkin pie, and whole wheat pancakes.
I’m bike rides to piano lessons, and storytelling.
I am roots so strong they could be steel,
I’m a family so big we out number the stars.
I am home.