I’m a refugee

I’m a refugee

An exile, a stranger

In a gold residence.

Home died decades away.

Those who opened their door

To welcome my wandering legs

Point to me their tables

decked with wine and sweetbread.

And they show me my room

Where my table sits next to the bed.

Both bed and table

are neat with emptiness and silence

I gaze back toward the horizon

In the direction

Where home died

But nothing do I see

When I rise to make for the door

It is bolted fast.

I’m breaking it open

To let out my spirit