Home is where?

Home. It’s a four-letter word. At least that’s what I’ve heard. 

But what is home? 

Does home exist in familiar arms, a moving palm against my back? 

A heartbeat singing through my ears 

A loving mother to wipe away dancing tears

But where is home? 

Is it in my sisters laugh ? 

As we lay upon the grass.

Is it found in the moving sky as we look up and ask why ? 

Why me? 

Sigh

Why are we? 

Sigh

Why, why? 

Or is it in a goodbye?

Wrapped up in our farewell, arms twisting together 

Just like they say….

Birds of a feather 

But who is home ? 

Is it anyone who will listen to the stories we have? 

The stories we hold. 

The stories we pour.

Like the pouring of wine. 

Together we sit

Forever we sit 

Suspended in time. 

Could you be my what ?

Could you be my where?

Could you be who?

Could you be home? 

Or are we already here?

Are we home?