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My Home
April 8, 2019
My home is not only the little white house
on the two-block street where my mother grew up:
no upstairs, no shutters,
just two kids, two parents, one pup.
My home is not only the spiderweb crack in the ceiling,
the mismatched wood panels of floor,
the nicks that are etched in the table,
the blackberry blue of the door.
My home is not only the structure,
the wood, the glass, the plaster,
my home is the people, my family and friends,
whose kindness and love will live after
I’ve gone off to college,
moved out of the house,
for love is a flame
that can never be doused.
© Roopa S., San Jose, CA
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