Sense of Place

My home is a stone bowl filled with blankets
That I snuggle into when I’m alone, and home
And smuggle my favorite things, too: crayons
The Phantom Tollbooth and a pink glass elephant
That I bought on a whim at an outdoor market,
Candles that smell like camping and strong coffee and
A pillow or two, feather, like I like when I’ve had a long day

When after kept promises I can barely crawl
Back into my bowl, and snuggle into blankets
Holding tightly to feather pillows and Tollbooth
Pressing my hot face against soft cool stone

Reviews

[no sun]

How very creative this is. Sometimes home can be simple and sometimes simple is perfect. An excellent write!