Swimming through the muggy air
Shoes scraping concrete
Cold brew taste on my tongue
Stacked, rollercoaster highways
“I wonder if it will feel like driving home”
Words soaked in fear from my mother’s tongue
What is home but memory?
Is home what fills you with nostalgia?
Or is nostalgia grief of a simpler past?
My fingertips trace the state line
Of my silver, Texas-shaped earrings
Pinning a state to my earlobes
Trying on a home
Running my fingers through my hair
Forgotten frizziness of humidity
Now I remember why I curled my hair so often
Why straightened hair never stayed
My eyes brighten as we drive
To the house that held my summer
And so many memories, tears, and laughter.
Loneliness lived there, but so did love
So did honesty, so did belonging
I lived there too.
Some form of me I may never meet again
Emily Zell is a junior studying English Language Arts Education at the University of Missouri. She loves to read and write, and she is thankful for poetry and the avenue to trace feelings [we] struggle to say.