What Home Means To My 11-Year-Old Self

Closing my eyes not to sleep But to focus I feel the breeze of my own breath In And out As I pump my legs on my wooden swing Back And forth Like a metronome keeping the beat Are the swings that my sister and I crafted with my Dad Laughter and stories That is home My violin bow traveling From string to string to make a melodious sound, Home is where we belong. After a day of skiing My toe dips Into the hot tub embracing the warmth That is The comfort of home. Home is where my skate blade reaches the ice smoothly, Landing a perfect axel jump. Home provides strength. When I ponder about home, Our fingers intertwine and my mind wanders and remembers As we walk up for my first day of Kindergarten, As we walk in the forest, And as we experience this journey of life Together My family surrounds me with love and hope. This is what I call Home.