Deven Walker

November 9, 2015

The Pain of Leaving Home

I ignored the door knowing opportunity knocked
It began with faint thuds
Swelling to loud, thumping plops
Inviting me to unexplored ocassions
I swore I was sure I wasn’t up for persuasion
But, it rattled my mind’s box
So I opened the door
Leaving my third eye sore and bloodshot

Samar Abulhassan

November 8, 2015


O creature of blue yearning,
hear beyond the space of this room.
Figments of home are too scared to go
barefoot. A delicate turn
blooms ancestral
caught in a fence. Scent of alley, song, sigh
swirl into salve.
Don’t dissipate this blurring.

Meera Mittal

November 7, 2015


Home waits
in the shadows of my dreams
the neglected corners of my heart.
Watchful and patient
home waits
to be remembered.

Home found me
before I found myself.
It unfurled me
like a slumbering flower
wakes at night
to embrace the stars.

I have left
home waits.

Yvonne Higgins Leach

November 6, 2015

Why I am Complete

In this cove-tucked cabin I call home,
I begin the last third of my life.
My young adult daughters
breathe steadily in the next room.
The man it took me a lifetime
to find does the same beside me.
All this breathing — in and out — here, with mine.

Rachel Delmar

November 5, 2015


A Brief Poem in which I [Ask You to Stay].

My heart cannot hold the love I have for you.
But do not swim away in its overflow.
Stay here with me & let the waves soak away our scars.

Xuan-Ha Hoang

November 4, 2015


Passionately I write
Dear Home!
Where my heritage is rooted
And skin color is given.
My skin complexion
Reflects to the sun
With its radiance
Emits through the universe.
Thanks my motherland
For who I am
You’re thousands of miles in distance
In me, you’re a heartbeat away.

Michael Schein

November 3, 2015


Like curve and fast balls
thrown in every weather,
some long and arcing,
some snap into leather,
our lives rise and fall.

Now, more stall than momentum,
I wobble slightly wild, feel
like every ball ever thrown,
the pull of where I’m from,
the call of home.

Victoria Rolph

November 2, 2015

House Key

Home is a place
hidden in a cul-de-sac
of my heart.

Take a right turn
at the cherry blossom tree
and come on in.

I have your key
kept in the cracked pot
on the porch.

Stay as long as you like,
but wipe your feet
on the way out.

Wendy Call

November 1, 2015

After Most Words Have Left Her

Three days before she dies,
Mom says,
I’m going to be lost.

Later she says,
I talk to myself about
different houses.
All kinds of houses.
Houses that I don’t know.

One day before she dies,
Mom says,
I come home.

Rumi once wrote:
This being human
is a guesthouse.

Deborah Williams

October 31, 2015

My Mother’s Eyes

The look in my mother’s eyes, as I hug her goodbye at the airport, is tender, gentle and kind.
With a look she gives me her heartfelt joy, for the times we laughed and cried together.
We then ponder the next time we will look into each other’s eyes.

Lai Huynh

October 30, 2015

Quê Tôi

Quê tôi có lũy tre xanh
Có đồng ruộng lúa hiền lành
Có đôi môi thắm như cành thiên hương
Quê tôi có những thửa vườn
Có đồng khoai sắn, có nương hoa màu
Dù rằng đồng áng ruộng sâu
Nhưng quê tôi đẹp như câu thơ vàng

Michael Dylan Welch

October 29, 2015

half moon
traveling with me
away from home

Joy Brauning

October 28, 2015

On the Bus

I can write
that long over-due letter
to Grandma
Or thank Grandpa
for the new book he gave me
Next I’ll text Sis
to tell her what’s up
And maybe write Mom
with “I Love You”
All this because I have time-On the Bus

Anthony Warnke

October 27, 2015

No. Sno., fall

Life, once
for the humpy

runs. Now, nothing
but safety

nets. Our honey
moon’s over

the still still
Stilly. Our river

boat’s cast
out in the past

I can go

home again,

Seth Zuckerman

October 26, 2015

Enclosures not permitted

Sun blazing
muggy air babbling with unfamiliar tongues.

In the house, cool and dark, I scribble to my grown sister.
Lucky one.
She got to stay in California.

I’ll fold the blue sheet into an envelope
wishing I could wrap myself inside it
and mail myself back home.

Derrick Charleston

October 25, 2015


“Home is”
Home is … A temple of Peace and Tranquility
A place of Safety
A place of Love and Beauty

Home is …
A welcome sign at the front door

Home is …
Where memories are made
And they never fade away … Come stay

D. Train

Vladimir Eremin

October 24, 2015

My home

I feel my home like rising tide:
It goes with me when I do step outside.
It rises higher when I’m far away,
And grumbles: You will need return to bay!
When I’ve came back – subsides gale
And calms… and tempts again to sail…

L Morgan

October 23, 2015

I’m home

I’m home here
Where I sit
Comfortably inside my head,
like soft gaze, recliner.
Although, honestly – often…
twisted on the spot
like looking out the window after shadows.
You do something else.
What will my next thought be?
Breath, chest rise, heart beats reverb
if I AM,
I’m home.

Violet C. Aesquivel

October 22, 2015

Home Remains In My Heart

Precious dwelling built with courage, love and faith,
where life’s burdens, trials and blessings meet.
My first guide to learn about things, people and places;
the seat of my early dreams, hopes and fantasies.
When twilight comes and stories are told,
Home remains in my heart to cherish and behold.

Deborah Caplow

October 21, 2015

My Mother Gave Them To Me

The dusty pages sent to me, piled in a box
Remind me who I was then, not how I would be now.
Wrote about the gray, wind, rain, how chilled I was.
Feel soft cold air again, in letters to my future self.
I didn’t know how long I’d stay.

Valerie A. Gray

October 20, 2015


Where I am free
To laugh
Watch movies and nap
Listen to music, write
Watch hoop games
Eat ice cream at midnight

Where romance lives
Where kisses bloom
Peace reigns and hope resides

No matter the address, structure or journey
The need for home
Spans across humanity

Lindsay Little

October 19, 2015

Perdóname, Is This Home?

Mi mama ha aprendido
el ingles,
y ya,
Estoy aprendiendo
el español.
Y ya,
todo lo que pensaba
todo lo quería ser la verdad
mi mente, mi corazón, mi alma-­
para encontrar

No puede ser un idioma.

Uma Rao

October 18, 2015

Amma, Where Is My Heart?

I saw the light shine green through the glass and I stared.
I looked away and I saw her.

I think her eyes were smiling at me, I heard pieces of chocolate pour into a bowl.

I wondered—is this the sound of my heart melting?

Kathy Heffernan

October 17, 2015

Standing Stones-County Cork, Ireland

Some say Stonehenge
is spectacular, but that’s not
my line. No crowds
in this silent valley.

Altars from unknown ancestors
circle round me. Here,
where blood calls
to blood, I hold

memories not my own.
This is home
where the stones
hold up the sky

Douglas Lidz

October 16, 2015

I Am Not Of This Place

I am not of this place,
but it is in me now.
I am not from this place,
but my daughter is.
Before this place there were other places,
but my roots did not grow deep enough to hold me there.
But now, when I write HOME, I write…


October 15, 2015

My Home

My home is where I belong
Where I have my loving ones

There is a grandfather clock on my wall
Where it sits, all day, so long

The fire burns bright in the fireplace
There are cushion-y chairs you can sit in

Where you can watch the fire,
burn bright

Tobin Marsh

October 14, 2015


God is a tree in the forest
behind my house
but I am not given
to know which one.

A bent sapling
or a great Hemlock —
it’s all the same,
in the evening

when I am walking
the narrow green path
with my thoughts
and a cup of wine.

Rachel Thorn

October 13, 2015

Where I Belong

Home is the people who miss me
When I am far away,
The place I think about
Every minute I am gone.
It is fresh baked bread
And laundry on the line
And kitten paws
And four walls that are my own.
Home is where I belong.

Suzanne Bailie

October 12, 2015

Refrigerator Door

Home is where the heart is.
Hearts, in jars, on a glass shelf.
Hearts, on tattooed arms with bloody drips?
Uh no.
Hearts, by teenagers, their folded fingers and palms touching?
As if.
Hearts, drawn in purple crayon on paper, taped to the refrigerator door?
Yep, like that.

Deqa Mumin

October 11, 2015

Home is Broken

Home is the place I call broken
The pieces of love and hope scattered in the heart of memories
It is happiness
Home is not whole glass shapes
It is beautifully broken
My one broken happiness
Because why have pieces shaped perfectly
When they can be shaped beautifully

Thoa Nguyen

October 10, 2015

Proud of where you are from

Home is where I am safe and cared for
Home is where I learned to be me
Home is a place I can dream all the time
Home is where you just know it when you see streets

Christina Finley

October 9, 2015

a soft breath

it’s that place where
(the flowers grow sweet)
when you press through the mountains or come by the hills
you breathe easy
where your feet rooted eternally

home is (softness and beauty, tangled in your heart) safely north
of where life can rip you

you are always welcome here

Thu May Tran

October 8, 2015


Bình Đại quê tôi đẹp mỹ miều
Hàng dừa soi bóng thấy càng yêu
Mục đồng nhóm trẻ vi vu sáo
Chim lượn cò bay rộp cánh đồng
Lúa xanh mơn mởn tình thôn xóm
Thiếu nữ thướt tha mái tóc thề
Vắng bóng xa quê mười năm lẻ
Nhớ hoài Bình Đại xóm thôn tôi.

Tram Dang

October 7, 2015

Home is…

Home is an adjective,
an adjective that describes a sense of belonging.
Home is a verb,
a verb that stirs people to act – to fight for it, to protect it
Home is a noun,
embodying the idea of love, the people that matter and places dearest to our hearts.

David Tookey

October 6, 2015

Pots of Gold

There, a rainbow outside the window-touching gently in the north and south-causing
mischief during the 5 o’clock rush hour, tempting drivers with pots of gold, distracting
people from the serious business of getting home. Rain reminds me of rivers my father
and I fished for salmon long ago.

Shelby Handler

October 5, 2015

The Moon Lays In Bed With Me

and we compare definitions of home.
Moon croons of gravity,
pull and cycle.
She swings into my window,
I give her the scent of latke oil
and Shabbes candle wax.
I show her the orchard
of split tongues.

A sway settles in us:
the shiftinginfinite home
of diaspora.

Tara Hughes

October 4, 2015


The oasis in the sandy desert of a suburban wasteland.
Crowds of people around but loneliness doesn’t go unseen.
Heading to the place more familiar to these eyes than the empty seat next to me.
Although there are less people here I am less alone.
Home sweet home.

Duncan Gillepsie

October 3, 2015

Home is

Home is a space
A very nice place
To dance and to sing
You are always the king
You would like it a lot
You can be on stage or not
Home is a very nice place

Community Poetry Workshop Participants

October 2, 2015

La humedad de la tierra

La humedad de la tierra
La humedad de la tierra
Que yo persivo
Toditas las noches

Toditas las noches
Que estoy contigo

Ay arriba y arriba
ay arriba y arriba y arriba ire
yo no soy marinero por ti sere
yo no soy marinero por ti sere
por ti sere

Darcy McMurtery

October 1, 2015

The Proposal

After the war, orders sent him west.
In tidy lines he wrote:
Come see the ocean, stay for dinner.

She packed his photo and her best dress into a single suitcase.

As waving wheat stalks slid past train windows,
she closed her eyes and smiled at
dreams of a home.

Talena Lachelle Queen

September 30, 2015

Wild Berries

Here the blackberries grow wild,
they get wacked and treated like weeds.
There ain’t no fallen berries
on the curbs back home.
I picked some blackberries for you.
I’ll put’em in a pie or custard or something
sweet ’cause you always liked
blackberries and I always liked you to smile.

T. Clear

September 29, 2015


Where a chickadee nest hangs
outside your window,
comfort like a soft sock.

Where sweet peas twine
with morning glory in heavenly blue.
Where tomatoes blossom
their promise of August fruit.

Where you walk in the door
and sigh, weariness slipping loose.
No place else to be.

Anna Mortensen

September 28, 2015

Front Yard

The red white and blue flag
hangs outside the window
above the wild green shrub
dancing gracefully in the wind.
The thriving garden grows
next to the old wooden swing set
and the clucking chickens.
Cluck! Cluck! Squawk!

Sunny Balfour

September 27, 2015

On The Roam

Home is on the roam
A pilgrimage, gold dome
Alone, solo out of Show Low
Solace chasing moving quick, though
Face masks blast past, twilight zone
Heart is on the range
Sunset fire grilled flame
Never remaining unchanged, thanks to pain
I remain
On journey, the gurney for my soul

Faith Allington

September 26, 2015

Dear Mom

The sun has traveled
from you,
following California’s coast

and nearly vanishing in Mt. Rainier’s icy fog
before being rescued
by a sea breeze.

The city is rejoicing,
the fountain at Seattle Center
busier than during the 1964 World’s Fair.

Thank you for sending me something
for my new home.

Mercedes García

September 25, 2015

Mi Casa de Cañas

Desde lejos vine y traía
sol y cielo jóven,
recuerdos de caña que crecía
en tierra que germina.
Verde de cañas adorado
olores de azúcar y mieles
con campos de fruta sembrados,
y la sonrisa noble de mi gente
geografía mental que se limita,
porque cabe en mi alma.

Stuart Greenman

September 24, 2015

If You Were Awake

I would write you if you were awake,
But the door has turned to stone,
And the woods encroach, encroach,
And lying on your marble bed,
You smile and smile that secret smile,
Just to think you’ve left me behind.

Stuart Bloomfield

September 23, 2015

New Home

Today I bused home with mom from the post office.
She was inside a box, CREMATED REMAINS stickers slapped on all sides.

She’d been shelved in a mildewed apartment’s closet for a decade.
I pointed out landmarks in her new neighborhood as she rested comfortably in my lap.

Steven Buckminster

September 22, 2015

A Piece of Home

The first time I left home, my Grandma gave me a quilted writing tablet which she called
her “little Piece of Home”. I have since taken that quilted “Little Piece of Home” everywhere,
so no matter how far I roam, I always have a “Little Piece of Home”.

Sarah Baker

September 21, 2015


Home is spun, a sticky
body bound—made
more maker, less stead,
more land. I want
to be base-
less so I’m always
in the stretch
of free, sweet leaving.
I run away;
how a pigeon finds
her page—can’t be
sick if I’m grown
from a home with range.

Danielle Miller

September 20, 2015


Home became a place I could not leave
Tiny warm bodies synchronized breathing
Chests rise and fall robed in fur
Shrouded deliciously in blankets of darkness
We wrap ourselves in down

Shaaron Droke

September 19, 2015


Home once was an Idaho river valley,
the foothills warm with deer and sage,
red-wing blackbirds atop backwater reeds.
When did it become this ashen Northwest sky
of pining winds and gulls that screech?

My compass points north and south,
crosses borders—Canada, Mexico—
searches for the sun

Susanne Sturm

September 18, 2015

This Waltz

I knew my father was home by my mother’s quick tuck into the vanity,
to apply fresh lipstick.

He’d hang up his coat, toss back a shot, then turn to kiss her hello.
Her face, flushed from cooking, turned up to his.

Whatever order the steps, this waltz was theirs.

Susan Rich

September 17, 2015

Missing Home

Eight hours. Enough for everything
to run tired ~

Whenever I step away
from my swath of sky, my water-lush

lip of the planet, I wonder

will my house survive
the alley cats of rainstorms, the monarch filled streets ~

When did I convert to domesticity with a house key?

Daniel Taylor

September 16, 2015


Power up, accept these terms,
Rapid acceleration closer,
The bridge carries me.
Staring out at the water.
How is my darling?
B u f f e r i n g,
Connection lost!!!
Severed from my love,
An endless ride home.
Just need to write her…
Perhaps I’ll use my phone.

Brenda Skinner

September 15, 2015

Morning on the Farm

Breakfast with Gampy
Plain donut dipped in sugar
Orange juice carton

The kitchen dinette
We eat and drink quietly
Mother cat meows

Feral kittens in tow
He pours the milk in lipped bowl
I fill the Friskies

Anna Vasilevskaya

September 14, 2015


Вот олениха идёт с оленёнком,
Под гору мчится мамаша с ребёнком,
Бак перевёрнут, и сорвана крышка –
Значит, наш бак инспектировал мишка!
Зайцы и кошки, кроты и собаки,
Птицы и рыбы, зелёные раки…
Люди и звери ‐ мы все живём рядом
В городе, схожем с большим зоосадом!

Steve Potter

September 13, 2015


I’ve been living for two years
in this small, cluttered studio
full of books, beer bottles
and rock and roll records
living the odd life
that has always suited me,
sitting quietly for hours
staring out at the interstate,
dreaming it’s a river
and writing small poems
like this.

Megan Snyder-Camp

September 12, 2015

To create the distance a frontier demands.
Green hunger splitting the husk of our lives.
The husk turned from.
To seek out that turning, that distance.
To set it loose. To watch it learn to walk.
To build a home beside it.
With what wood we found.

Michele Gill

September 11, 2015


Home is the sound of voices I have loved;
my mother’s French accent, asking me for lemons
to squeeze into a pot of boiling grape leaves,
her hands tattooed with their fragrance,

my grandmother’s strained whispers,
like the simmering garlic cloves,
my great uncle’s laughter, as wide
as a vineyard.

Susan Casey

September 10, 2015


Inside, summer goes dusky, cool.
Floor-to-ceiling ovens:
fires below, apple wood glowing.
Above, links of kolbasi.

My grandpa, his greasy work clothes.
White hairs swiped across his head.
On my tongue: garlic, pepper, ash.

I’m well-seasoned—
the flavors of his other world
deep in my veins.

George Miller

September 9, 2015

Writing Home

Better that I take advice of a melodious dream
Enlightening every way
Dude sneezes behind me because collie’s gleam
Got time for a breakfast’s entree
Perfume of roses, cinnamon and vanilla bean
A steak-jerky embracing a late brunch
Jimi’s Experienced is a hysteria satisfying NIRVANA’S fien
Catch-of-the-day, crispy baked crunch

Lisa Noble

September 8, 2015

Thursday Nights In Burien

Farmer’s Market, salsa and sunflowers
B-Town Beat and the Art-walkies are walking
Visionaries planing Arts-A-Glow:
Let it Shine, glitter happens
Pipers pipping Highland Daydreams
Winding road with Sound view glimmers
Wisteria Draped mystery: Narnia and Stout Ice-cream
Bag-pipe Music follows you home

Rebecca Loudon

September 7, 2015

Morning brought wetsuits draped like soft skins across the rhododendrons

Gone are my forbidden Saturday Cheerios,
cartoons, lazy lounging in pajamas, in bed.
Surfboards propped against the garage
signal get up! get up!

Oh wild children, have you returned to vex me?
Did menacing thunderheads drive you
from the rocky shores of La Push?
Did a shark spit you out?

Flora Cummings

September 6, 2015

My Home

Home seems to be pictured
in my mind
my favourite place to eat,
the safest place to sleep,
and the perfect place
for my imagination
to grow

and for my dreams
to fly.

Sumaya Ali

September 5, 2015


Xaraf lagu amaaniyo Dalku xiiso kala mudan
Midka xoorta taaloo Xareediyo udgoonka leh
Xoolahoo barqanayaa Xiskin ugu tagayaa
Xikmadiyo aqooniyo bulsho xeersan lagu dhaqo
Xeebtii hobyoodiyo Ximman baan u baxayaa
Xukuniyo sinaanshiyo Xeer wanaag u dagayaa

Sibyl James

September 4, 2015

Letter from Grandma

“Icy sidewalks going to Mass.
I stuff the window cracks
with rags, but the draft steals in.”
Home was her father’s house,
then her husband’s, both now
only photos pinned above her bed.
Fine mesh secures her curls
against the disorder of dreams.
” Always, I am loving you. Grandma.”

Laura Shoemaker

September 3, 2015


Two miles down a dirt road
and still no sign,
no mailbox to pin

everything into place.
The engine purring,
inside, everything shimmied,

the tape deck, our touching.
Where we always went
when we didn’t go home.

That back seat, a universe
where nothing hurt us.
And the river swelled.

Shin Yu Pai

September 2, 2015

Ballard haiku

Hagar the Horrible
wheatpasted on concrete blocks –
nod to old Ballard

Claire Zhang

September 1, 2015

Hold On

Home is rest, home is peace.
A place where
all worries are overruled,
you can dream of your ambitions
and feel triumph
like you’ve accomplished something great.
Something to say ‘Don’t stop dreaming’,
to give belonging,
Home is your rock in the sea of life.

Anh Phan

August 31, 2015


Before age 11, home was an old wooden house.
Dad just came home, tired, sweaty, but smiling
“Dinner is ready, everyone!” Mom shouted.
Days of innocence, we munched away happily
The greens & rice prepared by loving hands.
Later, we fell asleep, listening to the rain
Drip, drop… drip….drop…..

Sheryl Shapiro

August 30, 2015


If she placed herself just right
she could move beyond the walls
past the concrete and brick
the asphalt
the scuttling of vehicles
the sudden siren
the screeching child

A shimmering of leaves, a sighing of tiny wings
The soft river of wind
Barefeet dancing on the wires

Community Poetry Workshop Participants

August 29, 2015

La humedad de la tierra

La humedad de la tierra
La humedad de la tierra
Que yo persivo
Toditas las noches

Toditas las noches
Que estoy contigo

Ay arriba y arriba
ay arriba y arriba y arriba ire
yo no soy marinero por ti sere
yo no soy marinero por ti sere
por ti sere

Catalina M. Cantú

August 28, 2015

Reflexiones en casa

Escalando pétalos de rosa,
rosas como las orejas de mi gato,
susurra, bienvenida/o.

Mamá y yo
plantamos esas rosas,
hace cuarenta años.

Yo, impaciente por andar en bicicleta,
para arremedar los ecos de los pajaros
mientras me hablaban los árboles.

Hoy, entierro a mi madre,
con pinos y rosas.
Te amo mamá.

Shannon Apo

August 27, 2015

Rainy Day At The Ridge

It always rains here’
I follow her disdainful gaze
Toward a sweaty window
Evergreen trees circle the ridge
Dancing so slightly
To the tune of darkening sky
A dusting of snow waits
Patiently to be reborn
In rivers and streams below
I wrap her purchases and smile
‘Yes’ I reply

Courtney Hudak

August 26, 2015


She started out so light
a mist, I barely noticed her.

Over time, she gathered strength
against the mountain that was me.

Water over stone, she wore me down.

How surprised I was to find,
mist to rain to river,

she carried us both to sea.

Shane Guthrie

August 25, 2015

Dear Dad

When I was not a parent
I could tell you what you were doing wrong
And exactly what you should do instead

But now that I have kids
I’ve lost that power

Paul Mullin

August 24, 2015

Instant Messenger

Don’t let not knowing who to mail it to
stop you from sending praise. Just drop
gratitude anywhere, everywhere.
It’ll get where it’s going.

Praise the connections and contingencies,
the blocks and bruises, the stupid choices
that led to this dreamy-eyed kid kissing you.
Praise every worn corner of concrete.

Shahani Sainulabdeen

August 23, 2015

Monsoon memories

Through my ancestral house’s jalousie panes,
I witnessed the seductress supreme;
A drenched monsoon siren
with black and blue hues,
who descended in June
and vanished in August.

But now from this high-rise,
All I see is a graying lady.
Mumbling almost every day
in a foreign and pacific tongue.

Sean O’Connor

August 22, 2015

Missed Connections

Being on the way home
Can get in the way of
Really being on the bus.
Can get in the way of
Really seeing my fellow homeward-bounders.

Connected by a pull-cord
Competing to be the first
To pull the cord
That stops the bus
That brings us home.

Ian Mortensen

August 21, 2015

How to Climb a Tree

Pick your tree
Reach up to the rough, gnarly branch
Fall down
Get up again
Grab the branch and pull yourself up
Smell the strong sent of the tree
Get covered with the sticky sap
Be bold
Climb higher
Reach up to the sky
Hold on tight
Enjoy the view

Richard Clemons

August 20, 2015


How I miss the protection.
Genuine laughter.
The museum full of past achievements.
My best friend waiting to listen.
First steps.
Lasting memories.
Where my body desires to rest.
The place where all my dreams started.
Its where my heart desires.
How I cant wait to come back home.

Sara Brickman

August 19, 2015

Returning to Michigan’s Woods, the Author Makes a Discovery

Rusted car, you are a colony
of bees. Colony as in not belong
here, blooming
under dogwood branches.
Buzzing thrive
in a mountain of skinned blackberry,
set in your leather with a song,
broken-seeming stinging-honey, how
have you been my mirror
every day
of my feral life?

Robert Zverina

August 18, 2015

Round Trip

You board the bus a child, step off as an adult.
In between, years flash by like skipped stops
on an EXPRESS route. The you you were waits
back there, fare in hand, asking, “Did you forget?”

You can’t go home again because part of you never left.

Katharine Ogle

August 17, 2015


Home So Small Far Away

The front door was red then.
When I had to wait I thought

of cicadas. When I had to cry
I went to my spot by the creek.

There was no smell without taste.
I had a thing for rain. To be alive

in the throat of a flower.

Claudia Mauro

August 16, 2015

Occidental Park

Those parking meters
used to be red cedars.

There were long tides.
The salmon turned
into people here.

You can still see
our silver quarters
with the sun.

Lois Van Leer

August 15, 2015


Seven years a refugee.
“Home” I scrawled on the tiled shower wall
in the red of a child’s crayon
leaning into the wet of my sobs
cradled in the pounding water:
“Home, I want to go home.”
But is there a land of return
for the broken heart?

Rebecca Landa

August 14, 2015

Thin Walls

One “thunk” and I’m awake–
My upstairs neighbor’s baking cake.
Flipped the pan, spilled the bowl,
Sent the pieces out to roll.

I fall back to sleep but not for long.
A radio… what is that song?
Alarm nextdoor every morning at six
Is a problem I just can’t fix.

Rayshawna Mack

August 13, 2015

To you From Here

No matter where I go
when I think of home
it changes everything
from the time flow
to the aura
and I write my letters to you

Lucille Chang

August 12, 2015

The Paradise Of My Mind

Sitting on a mottled seat
while waiting for an e-mail to open,
I glance at the construction tower cranes
dotting the skyline
above the cars humming by
in tandem formation.
is within;
it exists as
the steadfast companion traveler
cradled inside
the paradise of my mind.

Raven J. Demers

August 11, 2015

Yama on Ice

The delicious crunch
Red hunting boots
tread frozen soil
Lord Yama in lady’s dress
fur-frocked and eager-smiled
to bite through deathly
Winter’s chill
The bone hush of boughs
breaking first green
then red. Then white.

Nhan-Kiet Ngo

August 10, 2015

Đi Về

Gập ghềnh lăn xả trên đường
Quanh co khúc khuỷu tìm phương đi về
Bốn mùa lèo lái mải mê
Nhịp đều lui tới trên lề thời gian

Rachel Tyrrel

August 9, 2015


I used to be a solid oak
Now I am uprooted.

Torn from the ground
Against my will
Now I lie in shambles.

Branches that once reached toward the sky
Strewn against cold hard concrete
A gaping hole where I once lived
Now fills the home I once called mine.

Zach Miller

August 8, 2015


In November, Russia
invades the apple limbs:
a sliver of ice,
and three gold leaves.

Japan bleeds
into the blue inscriptions
of the porch bell.

This afternoon the last
leaf fell into the creek,
became a fast black ship
spun out to sea.

How could I go home?

Andy Rodriguez

August 7, 2015

My home

My home is where the wind yells
and the clouds cry.
My home is where the trees grow
and the seas roar.
My home is where fun is around the corner
and memories are created.
My home is where history was
and history is made.
My home is Seattle.

Maria De Lourdes Victoria

August 6, 2015

Somos todos y somos uno

Granos de maíz
En el mismo olote.
Somos todo. Somos uno.
Conciencia compartida.
Pensares autónomos.

Gotas de mar
En el mismo océano.
Somos charco y pizca de agua.
Médula líquida.
Huracán y chispa.

Somos grano. Somos gota.
Himnos exiliados.
Víctimas o fuerza capaz
de partir aguas
y endulzar la mazorca.

Devin Miller

August 5, 2015

Barnacles are my welcome mat

The beach still smells like salt,
mud and stones and sea stars.
When I was little the corner of the bulkhead
had more limpets.
But it smells the same,
and a sand dollar still pays my way
from woods to sea
and home again.

Megan Helmer

August 4, 2015

suki plays with leo

i dream of you sick at home
on a plane i ride to the other side
in the east coast sun i run
smiling free with rest
you home on break out west
i dream of you
giving comfort sweet blossom
to our wild lion
i will be home soon

Michelle Peñaloza

August 3, 2015


The melody of a first song vibrates
through the cochlea’s staircase;
a fetus stirs at the sound of her father’s voice.

Return to whatever you never knew
you left, to the immediately recognizable

unseen like the message within a tree,
revealed only when sawed down
and split the length.

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