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home's where the heart is a collection of poems

Welcome to Home's Where the Heart Is! This is a collaborative poetry anthology centered around what inspires us most: Home. Home to us is the people, places, and feelings that make us who we are. xoxo, Montana and Dani

Parents by Daniella Stauffer

My room is like a hurricane

Every shirt I own has a stain on it

My dog’s bowl remains empty

And now she’s crying

.

I’ve been busy

I’m just messy

Can’t you feed her?

And she’s still crying

.

I can barely see your floor

I bought those and I swear I will burn them

I should forget to feed you

And she’s still crying

.

But she helps me clean it

She always does

Does the laundry

Feeds the dog

She always does

.

Mom I’m sorry

I’ll do laundry

I’ll do better

She stopped crying

Daisy by Montana Walsh

It is like she has an invisible forcefield,

That draws people in and doesn’t let them go.

Something about her makes everything okay,

Better.

When the day was anything but in your favor,

She will always be waiting to sleep under your arm.

And when you leave again,

She will watch you,

With her little paws perched on the windowsill.

.

Bright clouds make up the hair that flows down her back,

And deep yellow pools sit in her eyes,

Like lemonade.

When she looks at you,

You can’t stop the smile that emerges on your face.

Maybe it is her innocence,

The melody that sings in the air around her,

Or her heart of snuggles and sunshine.

.

No matter how far you go,

Or how long you stay,

She will always be there,

Her little paws perched on the windowsill.

Imminent Depature by Daniella Stauffer

We bicker like cats and dogs,

While wars rage around us.

It's always your turn to do the dishes,

And I'll always be the funnier sibling.

I'm going to scream at you sometimes,

But it's because you drive like a maniac,

And have bad taste in music,

And really need to cut your hair.

My yelling is reasonable when you think about it.

It’s my job as a sister to let you know these things.

But how will my yelling be loud enough now?

Can I scream all the way to your dorm room?

You telling me to shut up,

Just won’t be the same over the phone.

And you’re sticking me with dishes...

For the next four years!

You SO owe me.

You and I,

We’re a civil war.

But it’s a battle out there,

And we’re allies when it counts.

Hermit Crab by Montana Walsh

When I was seven, my sister pushed me off the balcony.

I took my safety scissors,

And went to the living room.

Carefully removing her evil face,

From each and every picture.

Then delicately placing them back in their frames,

He vicious smile erased from our house.

But then you saw,

And squished my hermit crab.

When I was eight, I loved to decorate.

I took a thick pink Sharpie,

My very favorite color.

Thoughtfully removed the cap,

I filled the blank walls with swirls and letters and flowers.

But then you saw,

And squished my hermit crab.

When I was nine, I went by Montana the artist.

I was painting a beautiful picture,

Of fairies and tomatoes and cats.

But my hand slipped,

And all of a sudden the carpets were drenched in black and blue paint.

But then you saw,

And squished my hermit crab.

When I was ten, I knew I was going to be a professional snorkeler.

But first, I needed a swimming pool,

And my bathroom seemed like the perfect place to put one.

So I clogged the sinks and bathtub with towels and left the water running,

Running,

Running,

All through the night while I was fast asleep.

I woke up underwater.

You saw,

And squished my hermit crab.

Crunch.

Crush.

Sqeeeeeze.

And just like that, Craberella was dead.

Thanks mom.

Home by Daniella Stauffer

Home is the arms that held me as a baby

And still haven’t let me go

It’s my seat at the dinner table

my spot on the couch

The crib that got turned into a bed

Home is the car I’m now learning to drive

The car that took me home from the hospital

Home is the dirt of the garden we planted

The gravel that scraped my knees when the training wheels came off

It’s the carpet stained with food and memories

Where a story lives inside the walls

And is written on them with permanent marker

Home is the beginning that meets the end

And everything in between

Recipe for Home by Montana Walsh

First you need a bowl,

Made of bricks and brown paint that may splinter your hands.

Add a cup of hydrangeas,

Bold and vibrant petals filled to the brim.

Next, the kitten fur,

So soft and gray, you can still hear him purring.

Then water...

Take your bowl,

Set it on the porch,

Letting the rain pour in.

Believe me,

There’s enough to go around.

Add a pinch of Pittock Mansion and Providence Park,

Top with Willamette river and the trees from Mary S. Young park,

And even more rain.

Crestview Drive.

Portland.

Oregon.

home.

Credits:

Created with images by woodleywonderworks - "three rooms: daughter's bedroom," • lakshmioct01 - "3 Hermit Crab" • skeeze - "snow forest winter" • Misserion - "The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind" • Mark Golovko - "Pdx-Bridge City" • Jamison McAndie - "Mt. Thielsen, Oregon"

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