Home
Four white walls,
rusty tin roof.
Some say
a shelter,
the four poster bed
with the flowered quilt gramma made.
The pantry,
white wooden shelves rising like tiers
lined with cans
of last summer’s green beans.

Home
Mom, Dad,
Mimi, Papa.
Nuestra familia
Warmth
of Hershey’s fur, thick and soft
riding beside me in the new John Deere.

Home
A mezcla of memories
like wildflowers,
their silent aroma filling the room
or great gramma’s faded photograph
floating over the oak mantle
or the prickling taste
of a bitter winter’s morn.
Unique to you.
Personal.
Hágalo suyo.
Make it your own.