Poetry Day 9: Home

I cautiously approach the front door
I stand there wondering if I should open it or run
I close my eyes
I remember
The voices talking filled with laughter
The music rumbling through the speakers
The playful arguments between cousins
I remember 
The crackling of oil on the stove
The slight burning smell that comes with any fried meat
The cinnamon wafting from the oven
I open my eyes
With my hand on the doorknob, I open the door
And I am home 

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