My home is the way
My husband reaches out
For me in his sleep, and
I am wrapped in his embrace
And his subconscious.

My home is the little kisses
On my fingers
When I stroke
My cat's nose.

My home is a wondering mind
That feels like a city
I hardly know, so
I keep returning to the same
Neighborhoods, because I'm
Too scared to wander alone.

My home is wondering
And questioning and doubting,
Because I can settle in uncertainty,
But am a guest in the house of peace.

My home is searching,
Frantically inspecting,
A detective on the hunt
For evidence of love
As dust settles on all the clues
I have collected and ignored.

My home is my hands
That roam over the skin
And fat I see, feeling
The extra on me that
My eyes can't subtract and
My fingers can't pinch
Back into skinny.

My home is forgiveness
For others before I give
Myself the chance to notice
The damage, smoothing over
The surface like makeup
Applied to a wound.

My home is hiding,
Fleeing, dodging the possibilities
Offered to me that have
Potential to be more
Than participation awards, but
Victories, because in every win
There is a loser that
Could be me.