You ask me what home is
I tell you of crayon-covered walls
the gritty taste of sidewalk chalk
the ashes and sand under the grill
the click of a gas fireplace

You ask me what home is again
this time I remember the smell of books
tiny little paper cuts from turning pages
the dusty taste of free summer lunch
bare feet in the reading tower, bubbles and fish

Again, you ask me what home is
I tell you about spiral-bound notebooks
the scratchy hospital gowns and itchy IV
3 am mornings sleeping on church pews
7 year olds communicating by email

You shake your head What is home?
Guitar strings and saxophone notes
Bonfire smoke and ranch dressing
The Wellerman Sea Shanty and Mau Maui
"I'm happy you're alive"

You still refuse. What is home?
A parking lot full of memories that are his and not mine
an alleyway (Can I do something impulsive?)
hand in my hand, wall clock in the grass
two arms around me when I am at my worst

You chuckle. What is home?
My father's jacket and A1 Steak Sauce
Softball signed by OMIGOD I MET THE DAISIES
face split into a grin, fireworks, chicken tenders
he held my hand, he held my hand, he held my hand

You ask me one more time:
What is your home, little bug?

It is carried on my back like a turtle
memories made of slishy sloshy bug juice
Places when I was safe
Times where I was whole
the quiet noise of the car ride home
the bus stop at seven in the morning
the elementary school parking lot at 1 am
the top of the bricks in the afternoon sun
Middle left, top left, bottom left
bottom left, bottom left, middle right, top middle
home is something I carry around

Home is a turtle shell on my back