Refuge
— Shireen Madon
Dear house
violated house
holding to the riverbank,
some distance from a grenade’s soliloquy
your daughters wearing crowns of jasmine.
Dear house
made of seams
and a succession of hungers
your family, daily,
feeding you a certain measure of terror.
Dear house
in a city on the ground
in a bed of no one,
your confinement a singular sickness
your daughters lick from burnished walls.
Dear house
of endearing rubble,
the small animal
of your heart hibernates. You find a way to disappear.
Read more from Issue No. 7 or share on Twitter.