We build couch pillow forts before we learn to add.
We crave tiny tree houses before we can climb,
blanket tents before we’ve ever hiked.
We read with a flashlight under the covers,
though no parent is fooled by such a ruse.
Is it premonition, that we’ll always be in search of shelter?
Love this poem? Give back by donating to Sarah Sullivan’s favorite cause, The Center for New Americans.