My Home


IÕm from family.

            Not just one, but many.


IÕm from many places,

            many faces,

            many races.


Many experiences

that all have one thing

in common:




IÕm from Clever, Missouri.

            Backwoods, down home,

            The ÒGood OlÕ BoysÓ

            Smile as you pass.

            From everybody knows everyone else,


And all the cracks,

and facts,

and knick-knacks

            in between.


IÕm from a smile goes a long way.


IÕm from Fulton, MO.

            Educated to lead,

            Inspired to achieve.

            The tall, white columns






            Like clockwork


IÕm from hard work.


IÕm from Oviedo, Espa–a .

            From Spaniards who loved me

            before they knew me.

            The traditional

            the artful

            the beautiful and the youthful


            From Catalan

            Bombones, carbayones,

            Y chocolates


IÕm from a love of language.


IÕm from Hunt, TX.

            Flaming arrows

            fly toward Raggers Point.

            Baked oatmeal

            and ÒIs It Loving?Ó



            starter campÕs Pampers,

            and dirty laundry hampers


IÕm from Caring, Honesty, Respect, Responsibility, and Faith.


IÕm from family.

            One here, one there,

            one halfway around the globe


            From togetherness

            From unity

            From love


And at the heart of every home

            is a different family.


The Long Road Home


We all search for a place to call home,

The avenue of ocean waves in summer

A reflection of time a distant memory

We rattle down an unfamiliar road

less traveled by souls on a familiar Thursday.

And we dance in the rhythm of the daffodil.


Thunder and lightning as lovely as a daffodil

struggle to reach their comfortable home.

Today, we redirect our Thursday

afternoon to turn into a summer

night underneath the stars on the empty road.

We create a lasting memory.


Withered leaves collect a lifeless memory,

while the sun shines on a yellow daffodil.

We couldnÕt agree to take that road.

Our hearts on our sleeves reminded us of home

and a chilly winter morning in summer.

A street lamp dies on another Thursday.


We are two travelers together this Thursday

roaming to make our own memory.

Awaiting the warmth of summer

suns that bring life to the daffodil.

Where ever you are, I feel at home.

I have chosen to trek the same road.


We wandered down a barren road

lonely as a cloud every Thursday.

The art of loving comes from home.

WeÕre all alone with our memory.

Smooth scents saturate the air around a daffodil

and waft to the surrounding summer.


It makes us fall in love, the summer,

and lovers grow closer down the road.

DonÕt leave me here holding a daffodil

with no more love than the Thursday.

Extend a hand, walk in my memory,

and let your strength be my home.


Find me daffodils along the road

and Thursday night lips in summer,

And make this memory our home.



© Haylee Rethman


Haylee Rethman is a striving college student at Westminster College in Fulton, Missouri.  Currently, she is a junior studying Secondary English Education and Spanish.