My mother says she misses home
And I can see whole villages collapsing in her eyes
And though her skin is silky like the waters that raised her
I watch an entire civil war
Waging between her bones
She asks me if I know what it’s like
To have a whole city swallow me up
Like I am the last drink of water on earth
Like war is an art form in itself
This sort of desolation is an exhibit
Where the words “trauma” and “grief” hang on the walls
Like war
Is a country
Where the flags are at half-mast
And every road is a dead end
And houses aren’t homes any longer
So when they ask why you speak in a foreign tongue
Open your mouth and let your accent wrap around their head
Like your language is the only thing that can save them
Like the weight of your country
Is too heavy for their backs
This was an entry in the 2017 Writing & Photo Contest.
