Home

As a child,
Mother's arms were it,
Along with my room,
Full of "My Little Pony"
And a visit or two from Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Growing older,
It changed,
My warm bed,
On a cold night,
Distant sounds of a football game,
The feeling of October.

More time slipped,
Things drifted,
Out of place,
No sense of belonging.

He walked in then.

And the old feeling returned,
I quit wandering,
Wondering
Searching.
Safety, security, belonging.

Home, 
Where I belong,
Whom I belong with. 

Not quite in our own,
Not yet,
But soon,
One will be built. 
He and I,
Just us.
Home.