home

Home is eating mint chocolate chip ice cream in front of an 24' flatscreen TV watching War of the Worlds with my dad and brother while my mom is on the phone with her sister, gabbing about thanksgivng guests.

Home is the beep, click, and whir of the old dial up connection, so different from the mobility of my laptop, the power chord of which I forgot to bring up north with me.

Home is country music under the articulated stars, diamond backed in black.

Home is a posterless bedroom, cold as I wake late in the morning.

Home is blueberry muffins for breakfast.