These Four Walls

We grew up in a home,

four steady walls

where we lived, played, laughed, and grew.

There, we ran before we could walk,

halfway out of the door with the sound of our mother’s shouts

down to the park without eating breakfast—

empty bellies, full hearts.

We carried home with us,

made it in the playground houses with heart-shaped windows,

constructed it out of twigs in the woods

like a bird, crafting a nest for her eggs.

Stripping the bushes of their fruit, holding elaborate feasts between the ducks and geese,

bursting berries on our tongues

spreading the juice on our lips

pretending we were beautiful princesses in marble castles.

Creating home in our minds,

creating home in our hearts.

Homes you couldn’t see, homes you had to feel.

We would stand pillows on their sides, string up fairy lights.

We would touch our fingers together inside those forts and a spark would fly

E.T. come home

I remember our laughter more than the soundtrack.

My thoughts would weave with yours like layers of yarn

tangling between our connected fingers—

Cat’s cradle.

A home for us

and a home for others, too.

Home is where the heart is

but it’s also where the laughter is,

where the joy is,

the tenderness,

the tears,

the hugs,

the memories,

the love.

Home is where we are.