By: Mary Thi Pham

Home is my mother
in the kitchen,
aroma maker,
incent burner,
ritual fruit-giver,
friendly banter,
nourisher of her children‘s
hearts and spirits.

Who could bare to leave the center of the hearth?
Who could abandon the soothing balm
that can only come
from a mother‘s
after a long day of bumping egos,
interactions with other
lost souls?
Why would society encourage
the fracturing
of the only source
of unconditional
love and living?
Why spread the deepening fissure
of a land,
a history,
a people?

Go back to your mothers,
Go back to the site of resistance
and put distance
between you and the lies
of your masters.

Be the caster,
who breaks old molds
with your words
with the bravery
that is necessary
to fuel
the veins that have grown cold
with indifference.

Home is your mother
where the umbilical cord
stretches towards the children
who‘ve lost their way
refused to stay
abandoned their culture
their roots
for greener pastures
made out of papers and leaves
imprinted with patterns:
dead presidents,
Latin proverbs,
promises of modern day slavery,
away from our land,
our home,
our mother.


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Filed under 2010-2011, Poems

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