Last Monday I was special
fine hair
fair skin
I wished they wouldn’t touch, stare
my mother made beautiful clothes
with patterns from overseas.
That wasn’t home.
Today I am not special
plain hair
mottled skin
now I wish they’d look in my eyes
my mother makes outmoded clothes
with patterns ten years old.
Where is home?
© 2008 S D Haydon
This poem is about cultural transition, re-entry, [...]
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