Those mansions that sweep the terrain
with over 10,000 square feet of living space
perched above a view of rippling silk blue
don’t spell home but a temporary haven
or a resort. Their spacious rooms furnished
like hotels or museums reek of wealth,
not taste in spite of the imprimatur of designers.
The infinity pool echoes
the endlessness and the polished surface
of marble floors and the quartz counters in the kitchen,
but all that sparkle and the countless rooms
may not fill hearts.

The oohs of vast interiors are exclamations
of awe at the space,
but what about those cozy indoors
where every piece beckons and makes you belong?
Every nook and corner is a fingerprint
of your personality. The walls cradle your soul
at night and witness your activities at day,
trying to steer you to what is best.
This tug of war between the walls and self
is what fills a home and expands your interior.
Your vision pushes back horizons,
even without an expansive view.

Tara Menon is an Indian-American writer based in Lexington, Massachusetts. Her recent poems have been published or are forthcoming in “Cider Press Review,” “Orchard Poetry Journal,” “Raven’s Perch,” “Rigorous,” and “Last Leaves Magazine.” Her latest fiction has appeared in “Armstrong Literary,” “The Hong Kong Review,” and “Litro.”