Casita roja

This little red house

is her house.

It is not Failure.

Or Embarassment.

The worn-wood floors

shabby at their corners

are the corners of her world.

 

Her palms and knees

never judged the

rag-rugs that covered them.

 

This little red house

is her Beginning.

Her First Steps,

First Tooth, her First dreams…

It is not

Poor Choices,

Improper Planning or

Underachievement.

 

When I pull into the driveway,

she doesn’t sigh, she isn’t ashamed.

She is happy.

She is Home.

 

 

4/mina

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