home
by Elizabeth Anderson
for some,
it is the place
where you were born
where you took
first steps,
ate
that pink-sick cake
your first birthday.
it is where you came
after school each day,
rolled your eyes
at your mother
when she asked
about your day.
it is where you laughed,
or maybe cried,
the place you left
after cap and gown.
the place
you came back to
at Thanksgiving
or Christmas.
for some,
it is the place
where you found solace
where you finally
felt peace,
finally
knew calm
after long days
and long nights.
it is where you went
to escape,
that creek in the woods
that dumpy town bar
that ‘78 Ford
yellow as the sun
that shone
through the windows
while you drove
your feelings away.
it is where you ran
from family
that wasn’t family.
for some,
it is the place
your friends were
cool moms
dads that told you
have fun
and then disappeared
into offices and garages
or maybe
they’d disappeared
long before.
it is the mall
in high school,
the parties
in college,
fancy restaurants
as adults
because you’d matured.
it is talking
about stupid people
and stupid things
and making stupid jokes.
for some,
it is hometowns.
for some,
it is peace.
for some,
it is friendship.
for some,
it is small things
wind on water
birds in trees,
that pair of sneakers
you wore
for your first kiss.
for some,
it is wealth, power
control and security
green bills folded
in designer wallets.
for some,
it is the day.
for some,
it is the night.
for some,
it is music,
or athleticism,
or words.
but for all,
home
is home.
by Elizabeth Anderson
for some,
it is the place
where you were born
where you took
first steps,
ate
that pink-sick cake
your first birthday.
it is where you came
after school each day,
rolled your eyes
at your mother
when she asked
about your day.
it is where you laughed,
or maybe cried,
the place you left
after cap and gown.
the place
you came back to
at Thanksgiving
or Christmas.
for some,
it is the place
where you found solace
where you finally
felt peace,
finally
knew calm
after long days
and long nights.
it is where you went
to escape,
that creek in the woods
that dumpy town bar
that ‘78 Ford
yellow as the sun
that shone
through the windows
while you drove
your feelings away.
it is where you ran
from family
that wasn’t family.
for some,
it is the place
your friends were
cool moms
dads that told you
have fun
and then disappeared
into offices and garages
or maybe
they’d disappeared
long before.
it is the mall
in high school,
the parties
in college,
fancy restaurants
as adults
because you’d matured.
it is talking
about stupid people
and stupid things
and making stupid jokes.
for some,
it is hometowns.
for some,
it is peace.
for some,
it is friendship.
for some,
it is small things
wind on water
birds in trees,
that pair of sneakers
you wore
for your first kiss.
for some,
it is wealth, power
control and security
green bills folded
in designer wallets.
for some,
it is the day.
for some,
it is the night.
for some,
it is music,
or athleticism,
or words.
but for all,
home
is home.