0NE DAY I WILL HAVE A H0ME
a home that will have its roots deep in the ground a small, warm one, with lots of light with red roof, not pointy inside home, the echo of dad’s blessings will be heard he would kiss our foreheads and “God bless you”, he would say all the memories of him, I will frame them and hang them in the wall when I will wake up in the morning, in my home with roots I will smell my mother’s neck, each month I will dye her hair with chestnut color every day, we will walk together in the garden and under the tree shades that sweetly drip we will have a rest, long rest he will not be home it’s okay, I will pretend as if he was there a moment ago sweet bickering about who will first sit on the writing corner, the fun with children, the seasons on his forehead, his pledged ideals I will turn them all into memories in the attic of my home with roots different sized suitcases will remain folded they will not be thrown or crawl around the world the dust will peacefully cover them and on their lids, I will write the names of the cities that I will not miss my home, will not have bus stations near by or snaky railroads, nor airports it will have only the land beneath and the sky above home is where the mother is there is where the roots bloom.2013../ my skin this is my skin, thin and yellow. it feels transparent. it does not protect me. crows shelter in its pores. they breathe through them the city shelters there, too the fallen roofs of houses, the ripped flags of nation. inside, frightened and beaten puppies, blinded, they screak. my blood spills out sometimes. my fragile heart, fragile bones, spine discs. like prison bars, hold the turbines of other’s lives.my skin is thin, shiny and yellow. imprisons lost loves. when sometimes thy get out, the city kills them again. I keep them locked, like fading memories. I wet them with my blood I need to survive one more spring morning.2017.