Home
A childhood home
of rivers and the freedom to wander.
A childhood home
washed away by flooding.
A new home
that doesn’t want us to stay.
A new home
of hard work, sleepless nights, and tears.
A childhood home
where there were more than us five,
parents, siblings, and me.
A childhood home
with friends who ate at our table
and chased us into the river on hot days.
A new home
with only four of us,
parents, sister, and me.
A new home
that is eating us alive,
leaving less and less of us to wake up.
A childhood home
where home was not only the house
but the trees that we climbed,
the grass that we laid in,
the sky that watched over us,
the love that surrounded us,
everything that expanded our world.
A new home
where everything is small and shrinking—
even ourselves.
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