For AZ

45 N Cascabel Rd

I think home is accordion music

Wafting (if such a verb can be applied)

Through stray open windows here, around this

Door, barely cracked open. Home is the scent

Of fresh made sourdough and the sound of

Your keyboard tick-tick-ticking along in

Time with your heartbeat. Home is for us queers:

Not four walls and a roof but a picture 

That your best friend painted of you as a 

Wizard before she dropped out of art school. 

Home is welcoming to your table all 

The tired, poor, and huddled masses.

You may not have much but what you have you

Share because that's how its been ever since

Your many-greats grandmother built her own

 One-room shack and fed each of the thin-faced 

Children who showed up on her humble stoop.

Home is walking inside, taking off your 

Hat and boots and gloves and feeling warm, for

The first time all day.