Poem by Eva Witesman

What is home, if not

Walking along

These storied sidewalks,

This carriage-wide street?

What is home, if not

Calling my children to

These adobe bricks,

This pioneer mortar?

What is home, if not

Taking in

The cool hued twinkle of hand-lit trees,

The scent of craft-filled summer booths?

What is home, if not

Feeling the rush of

This shallow creekbed,

These wind-animated leaves?

What is home, if not

Savoring

This steam wrought juice,

These neighbor jellies?

What is home, if not

This time

In this place

With these people I love?