Home is purple, like my mother’s favorite chair 

Regal and kempt, royal and removed 

Home is blue like sky, clouds floating endlessly, 

Never lasting anywhere long enough to 

mean something 

Home is empty, no place for me 

Would love to call it a state of mind 

But that ain’t it either 

Home is buildings sold, childhood bulldozed, 

Rent raised, and origins ‘forgotten’, 


too permanent for gentrifiers

Home is stale carpet, a leaky sink, and twin bed 

Nothing like Hogwarts, everything like depression 

and Microagressions 101 

Home is this body, so it would seem 

but that shoe don’t always fit no how 

Home is ‘country’, Mississippi Delta meets Georgia clay

Meets Louisiana heat, meets me 

Meets Granny, meets granddaddy, 

Meets being refuge in one nation, generations 

Lost, buried in ground tilled, soil worked 

Am I cursed?? Left to wander lands that do not know my name?

These bones don’t know home, though I 

figure they did, once, maybe 

Still they are tethered, anchored by a mother I am 

too much alike 

Weighed down by my own affinity for self sabotage 

The low and steady urge to clip my wings 

rendering them useless, feather by feather 

Home is longing for what I think I should want 

Home is assurance that there is a place I may never know by name

Joel CampoComment