Deborah Leipziger

What is home

a house made of kites
and orchids bleeding
is home.
language and story
color is home.
home is story memory
and the bones I carry
a library where
bleed into each other
green valleys
cobalt feathers
golden letters on their spines.
I want
to let the stories pour into me.
I did not know that everything
would be taken away.
Only later did I learn that
my Grandparents sewed gems
into the hems of their clothing
for each border crossing.



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