It was a great question

A great summer afternoon

An American Lit class in a sun-bathed classroom

“What is home?

Is it your stuff?

Or is it the piece of ground where you sleep?

Or neither?”

I have revisited this question in my mind

Over the years

Over time, I have tied it into another premise

True or false…whatever those words mean

The premise is that an individual

Somewhere between the ages of 14 and 17 arrives

That is…

Becomes the person s/he will always be…more or less

The question and the premise

Rolled together captivates me

Sometimes I am of the mind

That yes…you become your true self sometime in your late teens

And that life carries you away

Or you simply sail off

And that true self becomes a warm memory

i.e. “You can never go home.”

The gentle warm moist kisses

The summer nights on the beach

And the short hard punches of life

Make the road back impossible

“Mmmmm….I do not think so”

For me there is not a blanket response

I can look out the window now

Everything in various stages of gray

Freezing rain

And think…”Home?”

“This sure as fuck ain’t it…”

But, then…a little later

As I am putting tomato soup and warm cheese bread in front of my not-so-little charge

I think

“Sure feels like home.”

The transitions!!!


Lately…all around me

I am swimming in transitions

Makes it hard for me

To put my finger precisely on an X on the map and say,

“This is home.”

I guess for me

Home is within the heart

A deep yet delicate piano solo

“Wait a minute…that did not sound right, let’s do it again.”

How many times have I done that?

Again and again and again

Now that…is perfect!

That is Home!

A hand brushes over a smooth brow…”Love you sunshine…goodnight.”


The challenge is and always will be

Adjusting to the transitions

Getting up and out of the chair

When you realize shit has to be moved around

OK…Let’s hear it again



It is true

For me

“Home is…

And always will be

Where the heart is!”