My childhood home is filled with plants,
plants that we never water
but are somehow still alive.
Its island is littered with junk mail,
different types of olive oil,
stray flakes of salt,
and packages of wildflower seed.
It is filled with special love presents
and house shoes.
It holds nightly episodes of Jeopardy,
rare old books,
and curated tchotchkes.
empty cookie tins,
acoustic rock music,
My childhood home is filled with love.