I miss the sticky heat
between the prairies
pressing on my skin and my lungs.
Dust flutters in just the
sunny parts of your home.
The homesickness I feel
between all of my insides
when I think of my childhood,
when I want to be everywhere at once,
brings to life a solid part of a dream.
I hang white curtains
as to not shut out the sunlight completely.
At least I know, this time,
the dust has reached all parts of the old home.