Saturday, 26 October 2013


home is a fruit fly fortress, a slow-cooker cave
we want wild and slow, unplugged connections
there is broth boiling, there are herbs drying
aroma seeps into my dreams

we operate on warmth, avoid burn-out
following our hearts as they lead us homeward, always homeward
homebody hearts and defiant souls ask
Are the streets the only places for struggle?

there is a yearning for more
collectivity, interconnection
in the comfort of our fortress we are safe

where is the in between? where care and combat come together?
i dream of warmth from the ashes of this city
and home cooked meals to share

1 comment:

  1. Hi there,

    Sheila here, sorry it took so long to come and check it out. I really like this poem. Have been thinking of posting an anti-gentrification poem I wrote about the restaurant goers in the hood. Your poem really resonates with me as I am sure it will for many!!!