remember when the earth carved out a place for us?
remember cartoons and cereal and superhero underwear
and skinny brown legs and double dutch and
passing notes and i don’t know what home is.
i’ve packed my things more times than i can count
and so i’ve made a home for myself inside my own body,
pilgrim with no holy land but my own feet,
blessed sidewalk, blessed city bus, blessed rooftop
where we can drink and watch the sun go down.
your home is anywhere you choose to stand,
welcome home.
find yourself a place in the sun and it’s okay
if the only place you can find right now is on the inside of you.
i architect like i am my own ancient pyramid,
my own shining city,
my own church and there’s a tent revival tonight with lanterns and a gospel choir.
catch the spirit? i am the spirit, and all my tribe
is waiting inside these walls, baby, with a plate of hot food
and palette where you can sleep
with a quilt made by someone
who loves you.