i have had many homes, some brief and some long and drawn out some that lived only in the spaces of my memory's heart

a snowy gravel road through dense trees, a white sand beach of rocky waves, a lonely tent swallowed up by the howl of something i couldn't quite identify

an old brick building with mold stained windowsills

a trailer that had holes in the walls and a carpet that when pulled back revealed the dirt ground beneath the cracks,

and that 1978 red ford fiesta that always had a cooler in the hatchback.  just in case i needed to escape to the quiet buzz of the forest and the crackle of a fire carefully made with kindling cut up with the hatchet that lived beside the cooler.

i have had many homes that lived under my skin

in the quiet spaces in between the living

in the lost howl of my insecurities and the gruff growl of my rising up

a bruised knee

a soft sigh

a whisper and a scream.

my little house now holds the pieces of all those lives drawn out on wax paper and melted in the sunshine, smears of colours that define and redefine and then redefine again.

because life is hard yeah.  it just is.  and it is easy too when you are lying in the sunshine brown skin baking in the light, when your moccasins curl under the afghan you knitted that one year and you don't have to go out into the cold, when eyelids flutter in the in between where you are no longer sure which reality is the truth, the dream or the awake and in that moment it doesn't matter because they are both real and neither are real and that is a good easy place to be.

and home is a scar that is always there, that your finger can trace backwards to the moment it came to be.

and home is a smell that arises out of nowhere and transports you to a place that you knew so well, a place long gone now yet always somehow embedded in the cells that make up the body that you house.

and home is that body that is made mostly of water, that shimmers and changes as the light and the darkness roam across the skin and reflects back the demons and angels that war inside of you.

and home is ever changing and always static.

home is the holy that is you.