garden II

We love our garden, it is small, all our plants die every year but we keep trying we want our old flowers our known colours the texture of the past we cannot see our present

garden

The garden covered by brambles, the house broken windows we thought we will never had to be there again mother wanted to after coming back

Step

When we step outside the airport the cold breeze greets us our skin does not recognize the sun in our new house we sit down and weep

oo

Oozing phlegm blisters following the path of the dead

 the walls speak of battles and war

 her steps crawl under the pain

 we look the other way