Poems About Home


My home,

my home is my family.

My house is not my home,

it could not be.

I do not know where home is. I have lived, now, many places. And my shoulders are tired of carrying my bags.

My family, the familiar mess of the people I know.

My family. We share noses. Bikes. Clothes. Time. We are loud people.

People who laugh often.

People of travelling and movies and watching fireworks in the Midwestern sky. Close.

Close in age.

Closer, I would say, than most.

We are now separate.


Now, separate.

My family is now two homes.

But my home is my family.

These houses are not my home,

they could not be.