When Looking for Home

I look for soft
earth to dig into. A couch
to sink into with books
and plain white crackers

and no choosing a language.
Just me without words. My sounds
and silence enough to earn a name.

A bedroom.
A playground.

I want small signs of belonging.
A child’s arms reaching up.

A thoughtless we
that comes with habitual love.

Read more from Issue No. 20 or share on Twitter.