It is on the open Midwest roads
the names of the states fade away,
as it really does all look the same.

Sunlight seems to be pouring in
from every window of our worn out Honda minivan.
The electric doors never stop rattling,
as the tires beat across these soft grey roads.

Inside this vessel I lay horizontal across the last row of seats;
all to myself, it was my cubby hole of the world,
that encased so many memories.
It is now just a place in my mind,
but at palace at that.

I am 14 years old and have "borrowed" my sisters iPod.
I shuffle through old Jason Mraz songs,
and stare at my bare feet pressed flat against the window above me.

I watch the clouds as they seem to be going in between my toes,
and once again feel the openness of this place,
my home, sink into my bones.
I think back to that last family road trip,
And I know I never left.