• Kristiana Roemer

Home Is Where The Hurt Is

Updated: Jan 21, 2018

Sending a silent hymn

to a quiet cave still haunted.

An old distorted kin

keeps the child in its crib

and lets it weep.

Keeps it lit with a dream

so solemnly dim.

Time to gather the nest

of memories ruefully taunted

and finally lay it in an alley.

What a thrill of consolation

when a small history has died.

A victory over a nation

only you carry inside.


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My reflections are moving in nearer as I stand here in my house of mirrors. Some are chipped, some need dusting. Some are polished to a shine, crystal-clear. Some are obvious, some are deceiving. But