home is an interesting concept for me.

a few times a year, i travel across the great atlantic and arrive in your arms.
during one (or both, if  it happens to happen) of those auspicious visits, we usually deliver ourselves into the bosom of italy.
when ma-mah comes to pick me up, and takes me to tucumcari,  there is always a sense of peace upon arriving.

and now, in my own very first house (rented, of course),
i’m scrambling around like a monkey on the old fashion coca-cola,
trying to pull my house into a home.
i’ve been here for weeks, and it only just struck me to start taking my new habitat seriously.
i hung up frames, lanterns, moved around furniture, knick knacks began to adorn lonely corners, hectic drawers became submissive under my crazed ministrations…

then (five hours into it all) my housemate says to me:
a home…