Home

Home? What? This place

where a wall can burst in,

a table fly and spin, glass

shatter faster than a flinch?

Home? Where? These hours

when calm and conversation

flash by like commercials

in a television series called War.

The cast changes in each episode.

A sister dies. A cousin disappears.

A father is killed. A brother.

A cat. A mother. A teacher.

Every hero appears just once.

The whole series may last

a season, a month, a week.

Someone else controls our schedule.

Home? How? When noise

of the drones disturbs our dreams.

Our beds and couches turn to ash.

Our wedding plans turn to funerals.

Home? Who? My little sister

dreams and despairs of traveling,

of studying, working, spending

quiet hours not counting seconds

until the next bomb bursts our walls.