Thursday, February 26, 2009


A window on the tv; dark wood panelling, tall, Georgian;
A background row of semi-d's with neat gardens;
Familiarity a dagger, sending me slicing back,
On a blank-eyed trip to youth and freedom.

Creeping silent and subversive, sowing resentment and discontent,
The everyday moans screech like nails on a blackboard.
Housework - a curse; cooking - a torture;
Children - wild; no matter how well-behaved.

Spare me the daily effort of understanding.
Spare me the loneliness of a second culture.
Let me home to no need for translation.
Let me home to a break from being different.

Olive trees and hot sunshine, stuffed vine leaves and baklava,
Exotic to the girl I used to be,
The norm for the woman I have become.
Hard to renounce even for a brief hiatus.

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