I’m from two homes,

when it used to be only one.

I’m from shielded eyes of a parent’s divide

and weekly transitions, from one to the other.

The first house, big and beige.

Being brought in by the baby carrier for the first time, after weeks in NICU. Born two months earlier than expected.

Riding my Razor scooter around the neighborhood, going fast down the big hill- sometimes wiping out and scuffing my knees.

Hiking with my dad and spending weekends in the sweaty marsh behind our house, complaining every step of the way, I still do to this day.

Walking down the street stepping in the dewy grass on gray mornings, to find others at the corner waiting for the bus.

The first house, big and beige.

The second house, small and white.

The long, black driveway burning my bare feet on sunny, summer days.

The large window in front, acting as a fishbowl to passerby.

Biking. EVERYWHERE.

Late August evenings, drawing masterpieces with chalk on the street

and running to the side each time we heard a car coming.

Climbing on the roof to watch the sun go down, being careful not to upset the wasps that live in the siding.

Running across the street to Nixon Park

to just catch the icecream truck.

The second house, small and white.

I’m from two homes,

and weekly transitions, from one to the other.