I miss my home.
the one I built little by little over time.
I had no idea what I was doing.
who buys furniture for the first time in their thirties?
I guess I do.
I miss my home.
the one I never felt built for
or understood in
but it was familiar.
with the same trees, rocks, garden to pick from.
I miss my home.
the one that held and protected me
nourished my innocence.
my soul aches to sit back under that
ponderosa pine tree
endlessly chain braiding those long tender green needles before the autumn dried them.
I miss my home.
the creek
the mountains
the waters
MY land
stolen from me
my birthright.
It wasn’t just the land I lost.
but half of my family.
I miss my home.
I ache for all that I can never go back to because
change
nothing ever stays the same.
I miss my home.
YOU, dear one felt like home.
that’s why it was so hard to walk away from you.
you reminded me of all that I had lost
and found
and lost again.
I miss my home.
I’m calling my mom again in the middle of the night
I know she will be mad
and disappointed
at another failed
sleepover.
I don’t care.
I just want to go home.