When she left, Anita took Mom's valise, the round one with the wooden handle from Eaton's department store. Mom was furious. She'd had it on hold at the store for weeks while she earned enough to
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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.
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