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.