i lived at 1011 45th street for over 18 years. that place is so intertwined in my head that i still involuntarily see it when i hear or think the word home. i have also lived on a ship, in an old brick house, and now in a little bungalow with a tan ceramic hearth and a green kitchen. these places are old friends, part of the family.

my children don't live anywhere. they stay places. at first, i thought this was an odd dialectic turn of phrase, like the way people here say that something happened "on yesterday," or that they're "fittin' to go wal-mart."

"staying" is different. it's language as reality. aiesha doesn't live at her auntie's house, she stays with her auntie. she writes letters to her mom, "dear mom, pleas pleas come home. when will you come? i will be good. i am good. will you come? i love you. love, aiesha." mom comes by, sometimes stays with auntie for a few weeks. stays, doesn't live. detriss's mom stays with her parents, they have stayed in the same federal housing project for years. adults say to each other, "where you stay now?" or "i stay over there." i don't know if any black people own property in sunflower. everyone i know lives in government housing. you stay awhile, then you go. people don't know street names in a town of 500, but places are "you know, by where bianca's mama's staying now."

it's like that magic trick with balls under the cups. who is under which roof now? i guess it's that the people are the only players here. the setting is so transient and impersonal that you learn not to see it.