Every year I would travel to my grandparents’ house in New Jersey
And when we would get to the grand house
I would see my favorite tree
I loved how the light from the backdoor would shine on the colors of red and yellow.
I would walk in to the kitchen the I would see the tiny kitchen where my dad’s family grow up.
And I would turn my head and see the hand stitched plaque
“There’s no place like home- except grandmas.”
And I knew I was home.