The House with the Pointy Roof

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Five times I’ve seen my life in boxes.
But only one
whose four walls
have heard me
spill,
felt
the tip of my crayon,
the only one
whose cupboards I’ve crammed,
whose doors I’ve slammed,
whose door frames I’ve climbed up, ninja-style,
whose parquet have held my weight for nearly two decades,
whose shower head I’ve had to replace –
a friend of mine once said, “home is where you know how to work the shower without scalding yourself” –
whose light bulbs  I’ve had to change,
whose corridors I could navigate even in the dark…

I grew up
in a “house with the pointy roof”.
When people ask me where I live,
I speak of my new address
but see the rusty chocolate gates before me, which always has me thinking,
“I’m home”.

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