Walking through busy winding streets, a mix of veterans and tourists,
Driving through my small town, always finding familiar faces.
Looking up to homey balconies, skinny, tall buildings and deep green shudders,
Looking down tree lined streets filled with traditional two-story homes.
Sleeping to city sounds: music from the club across the street, ambulances blaring,
Sleeping to the soft quick bursts of air from my dog's nose as he sleeps aside my bed.
A two room studio apartment with one framed picture of a sailboat,
The room I grew up in, bright and beached out, my sanctuary.
Stepping outside to a friendly shopkeeper who is always stocked with wine,
Stepping outside to my best friend's house, home to childhood memories.
Living around the Duomo, Santa Croce, and il panino centrale,
Living around the mall, the movies, and familiar restaurants of food from around the world.
Fresh markets, gelato, and real wine from regional grapes,
The comfort of knowing the chef, homecooking.
Traveling the country with views of rolling green hills, discovering,
Driving the state with views of the parkway, visiting.
A fifteen minute stroll to the sparkling Ponte Vecchio,
A fifteen minute drive to crashing waves at Jersey's shores.
How lucky can I be for both of these are homes to me, memories.