My mother strode forward with her jaw uplifted.
She made sure we found a place in every new world.
My father lagged behind with steps longing only to return.
But there was never a place to go back.
Home no longer existed the minute you needed to leave.
You could grieve all you like but you had to keep breathing.
their pasts were reserved only for their dreams.
They didn’t even dare tell. Who knows what would occur
If they tried to bind old faiths with new lives.
A child of refugees, I seek their secrets, their sweet memories,
The suffering they hid, willingly and unwillingly,
The part of them that would make me whole.
Poems Without Borders 