Introduction: I would like to believe that home is not a place; it is the people, the family in our lives. We have been given the greatest gift of all, being born into this world.

In dirt roads 

the way you bounce in your seat 

and smile at the mud 

coated tires 

coated legs 

coated boots 

while everyone complains that it's not 

summer. 

I haven’t been to upstate New York since I was ten years old and we drove away from our house there without looking back.

 Home is where the heart finds rest, 
 A place where dreams and memories nest. 
 In walls of love, in every glance, 
 We find the comfort, and soul's dance. 

Being a Vermonter is spending six months of the year wearing a jacket.

Being a Vermonter is running outside in nothing but leggings and a sweater, thinking it’s springtime when it hits 47 degrees.

Two years ago, my home was Beijing

Even though I moved away ten years ago.

Two years ago, I longed for inclusion

for that tingle that made my skin

burn bright with belonging.

You ask me where is my home.

My friend's home is beautiful. 

It's got green walls with flowers all over. The floor is soft and plush. It's warm but only in summer, and it's too cold in winter. But my friend likes it just fine.

Two doors, both locked, neither mine.
Two names, one I gave up.
Two voices, both demanding I choose.
A home is a shelter. A home is a question.

I was born in a city.  Not a real city, just one of those urban approximations which flicker across the map for a minute, briefly important, and then fade.  My city was ‘briefly important’ for its steel.  We were one of th

HOME: a place where we feel safe, comfortable, and loved. Not  just a physical structure, but an emotional space that provides a sense of stability and belonging.