Home was parties in the neighborhood, blacktop burning beneath our small feet.

Lady Gaga’s voice twirling with my brother’s as we moved to the music.

sunsets, bleeding color on the horizon dancing with the tiki torches’ flames. princess nightgowns and popular playgrounds, a smile blooming.

Home is dimmed lights, the salty taste of popcorn against my lips—

the IMax theater, allowing the wretched world to whirl away.

an opened book, rough pages gliding between my fingers—

eyes frantically scanning the page, unlocking adventures.

Home was humid beaches, palm trees casting shadows onto the sand.

outstretching my fingers, hoping to catch someone’s shirt in tag.

a plastic pink pig, wobbling across the floor as we chased.

my beaver with blue sunglasses, holding him close as I cried.

Home is maghony curls brushing my leg, eyes like steaming cups of coffee—

contagious laughter causing my mouth to tilt into a grin, unable to resist.

late night Mario games with my brother, yelling until hoarse—

screaming and high fiving when we finish the level, joy radiating.

Home was the Californian tan, a bronze unimaginable in Wisconsin’s cold.

toy train tracks sprawled across the backyard, sound effects from our lips.

a grassy soccer field, sacrificing my body to keep the goal safe.

Saturday cartoons of green mutants fighting crime in New York City.

Home is within myself, when I’m too anxious to face the world—

biting lip, drumming fingers, crescent moons in my palms.

a voice, talking me down from the edge of panic, calming—

warming my weathered spirit into a state of peacefulness.

Home was ripped apart by tears, salty trails wetting faces.

being told we were moving, pain slashing through us.

the city fading in the distance, false feelings of security.

a place of comfort, now a faded eight year memory.