Home is the suitcase packed 12 years ago, 
ill prepared for the weather and never enough. 
Home is the two grey plastic storage containers
carried out of the burnt shell of your apartment
two strangers weighing
the value of each remaining solid thing amidst the ash.

Home is 46 lbs + 23 lbs weighed at the airport
on your outbound flight to your mother’s home
(or at least the new one she has made in the Texan sun)
Home is your overweight suitcases on your other stretch back ‘home’
the first merely a pit stop on the way to the second

Home is the 12, 830 miles between here and there
Home is the smiles you left behind, 
arms you left outstretched, 
laughter you left in the air
in that place
that bled into your roots and sunk you deep into its soil

Home is 12 years ago
12 years of living

Home is never enough.