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It's a strange feeling, having multiple homes. 
My homes are not the same amount of home, but
my heart is confused. 
I cannot wait to once again
     drive the familiar streets of Indianapolis,
     see the city lights at night. 
to once again
     eat a slice of my dad's bread,
     pick a tomato from our garden. 
     Colby Jack cheese. 
I long for the familiarity of
     my own music,
     the rest of my clothes,
     showers and toilet seats. 
I'm ready to
     serve myself food in the exact amount I want,
     drink tap water,
     wear shorts, and
     sing in harmony.
But I can picture myself not knowing what to do,
being someone old yet someone new. 
I can see myself wandering the grocery store
in search of platanos and frijoles. 
I can hear myself blurting out phrases in Spanish. 
When I take a walk, where are the dogs and the people on their porches and the schoolchildren and the "ts-ts-ts"?
Where are the vendors and the guards and the pasarelas?
Why does a dollar seem like so much money?
I feel blessed to have been born in the U.S. of A,
blesses to have a home to return to there. 
It's just...
something is calling me
to keep traveling, keep searching, keep learning. 
And maybe someday I'll have ten more homes to love.