BY DAWN LAWRENCE

sometimes this is exactly what home is like:
a house,
walls
and a roof
that keeps out the rain,
windows that don’t break
under the wind.
the way you fall in love
with the sunlight
draping itself over the porch.
that pot of flowers,
growing and smiling to itself.

those steps,
welcoming others to sit,
ready to gaze with you
at the neighbors passing by
on feet and by car.

but sometimes home isn’t this,
and home is not a house at all.

it is rather a fragile castle,
a person with bone and skin,
eager to hold your hand.