“Home is where the heart is.”
At least, that’s what they say.
But my heart is in so many places
it doesn’t know where to stay.
My heart is with my parents,
my brother, and even their cat.
We eat, and talk, and watch TV,
at the table or couch we sat.
Even if we cannot visit
I call them every night
to talk and laugh from my couch
until it’s time to turn off the light.
My heart sighs with relief
when I first walk through the door
and sink into a chair
after dropping my bag on the floor.
Then I hear the pitter patter
of the little dog I love so dear
as he runs and jumps to see me
and bounces off my rear.
And he cuddles by my feet
when I watch TV or read a book
and sometimes I lift the blanket
at his little face to look.
My heart is in my bed,
when next to my husband I wake.
He smiles, kisses, and yawns
and I in his arms he takes.
We get out of bed just to pee
and open our dog’s crate door,
and crawl under the covers and cuddle
for just five—or fifteen—minutes more.
My heart is in my desk chair
because I love my work and play.
I teach at the same campus I learned
the worth of good work in a day.
My heart seems in various places
where I tend to sit my rear.
It isn’t just a coincidence
because, at this point, it’s clear
that when again they ask me
where my home is, I’ll remind:
“Home is where my butt is,
because my heart’s not far behind.”