Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - Prompt #299 - A House Is Not A Home
We are writing about a house or a home. It could be a house we live(d) in, a house we wished was ours, a supposed haunted house … it might be our home and the people in it. There is a difference between a house (the building) and a home (the environment in which we prospered). Choose one about which to wax poetic.

Home was an apartment
in a housing project. 
Although there were houses
in our neighborhood, we tended
to stick to our surroundings,
lucky to have an abundance
of kids for friends.
Ours was only one building–
72 families–of many.  How
times have changed since
childhood.  Parents and two
children, two bedrooms, one
bathroom.  I tried to divide
the room I shared with my
sister in half.  Somehow,
we always found each other's
belongings on the opposite side.
Although Mom worked, we could
count on her baking–chocolate
chip cookies, *mandelbrot, cakes,
and rice pudding. A sterling
cook with an extensive repertoire,
and daughters underfoot eager
to learn.  Grandparents, aunts,
uncles, and cousins visited
our warm home where laughter
was king.  Our home had just
the right amount of room
for us.

*mandelbrot was the equivalent of biscotti.
I remember a long sheet coming out of the
oven and cut into strips. 

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