The house I call home
on top of the hill that was
unreachable in the winter season.
The bedroom that was first
my own and then my brother’s that
was a kickball and baseball field.
The yard where my dog lived
for thirteen years fighting off
porcupines and black bears.
The bedroom that was the entire
upstairs and was the stage for dances
and photoshoots with my friends.
The upstairs bathroom that
was also my cat’s home.
The living room that was lit up
at 6:00 a.m. by the Christmas tree
and my brother’s face Christmas morning.
The kitchen where Mom’s homecooked
meals were crammed on the little round
table near the bay window.
The house that was my childhood.