In a small cottage in a deep valley, an old woman lived with her goats and sheep, chickens and dog, a sway-backed horse and one ginger cat.
Each morning, she collected eggs while the dog led the
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There is hurt here
But there is hope too
These walls were built with both
And they would crumble without either
Home—Less a place though
I wish it was. real walls
I’d seen forever and not metaphorical ones
I’m writing about. my family,
but I want to write about the town I’m supposed to call my own:
My father’s hometown, I’ve never seen with adult eyes.
That town is now the home of fear
of concentration and extermination.
Home—less a place though
the family
it is threatened all the same.
Home—less a place though
wherever my mother’s voice is
a place
wherever my sister’s laugh is
a place
whenever my father’s smile is
a place
is home.