when I leave for college
and my room becomes an office
my closet a small attic
and my pillows and pictures and trophies and ribbons
are put away
where will home be?
in my small, stuffy dorm, all stale cereal and loud music?
the new office?
and when exactly
will home be my own house
and I turn my child’s pink-walled room into an office?
well, home isn’t where the trophies are
home is with the people you love: so
maybe we have lots of homes and maybe
the whole world is our home but why, then,
does hot homesickness flood your throat at
sleep-away camp and what exactly are you
sick for? the familiar
sound of the door open-creak, thump-thump-cool smooth
floor-under-feet, close-your-eyes spaghetti smell and
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.