when you’ve lived a long life
where do you call “home”?
the last house you lived in
that condo by the beach you loved
the town where you grew up
your best friend’s house or backyard
the place where you were born
or this room in the assisted-living place?
seems we’ve all had to dig
ourselves up every time we moved
and the roots suffered till
replanted and grew again
and I think we’d also agree
home is a place where like
the tree that grows from the sweet
loop of sap we need the food of love
but at some point
many of us will sip soup
swallow apple sauce
and look out a single window
and I wonder then
how many will stare out
the glass and not remember
what the question was?
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