Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
April 27, 2026

Home Is

"...On a bench, on our arm..."

Home Is

It's where we lay our head
In a bed, on a pillow
On a bench, on our arm
To catch some sleep
In one room, or ten
Or none, alone or not
Dreams are the same.






More by Ann Privateer → More poetry → Full issue →
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