Poet Gold, Home

It’s Sunday
church is at the table
and we give thanks
it’s not November

Home …
Where my heart was constructed
to serve as a refugee camp
for those who are fleeing
I take them all in
have yet to learn 
how to build walls

Home … 
Because behind some closed doors
exists a war zone
where every word spoken
leads to an explosion

Home … 
“Hate” was considered a cuss word
forbidden to be used
and being neighborly 
extends to strangers you sit next to 
when traveling on public transportation

be sure to offer them the same kindness
as if they just passed you your favorite dish
at Sunday’s dinner

Home … 
I experienced the world through songs
if there was a U.N. for music
it would have been in our house

Home … 
I had a Crayola Box of friends
and they were always invited over

Home … 
A brownstone
three generations
where I was a scientist
who discovered how to time travel
from one floor to the other
exploring the past, the present
to lead me to the future

Home …
Growing pains
crashed my bike for the 3^rd time 
it fell to pieces
I forgave myself for not paying attention
parents never bought me another one
I forgave them too

Home …
Lock and keys
Grandma and Grandpa
Mom and Dad
never felt like a prison
just safe

Home …
A path I will always follow.