27 March 2020

Homes. For me, home was Tijuana, that

House on La Avenida Del Agua that my

Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins

Help build. Home were the summers in my

Abuelita Elvira’s house, el Cañón Johnson.

Home was Costa Mesa, the bottom bunk

In that little room, when we first moved to el otro lado.

Home was San Ysidro, when we moved

Closer to the border. Home was La Mesa, for a year

Or so. Home was San Ysidro, again, then Tijuana.

Home became National City. Home was

Then Oxnard and Camarillo then National City, briefly.

I kept moving North.

Home was Champaign, for almost 3 years, the second most

Time I’ve spent in one place.

A house is no home by default,

A home has no place it sticks to automatically,

It becomes sticky. Homes are familiar when you leave,

And strange when you return or vice-versa.

A home is never fixed in space nor time.

Home, for now, is California Avenue in Urbana.