The Suitcase (forthcoming in Waves, an anthology by A Room of Her Own Foundation)

1.

Lifting the lid, she said,

"Bonbons for my girls";

ghosts in her German accent

floating about.

"Dollhouse table," my sister declared.

"A sofa, and this chair."

Collecting the wrapping paper,

inhaling flowery perfume, I imagined

Granny's house in London.

2.

The drifting dessert sand, Mother removes

from her gravestone once a year.

I pull out the suitcase waiting

in the boidem, dust it off.

My diary packed, small can-openers,

some scarves—waving good-bye,

I moved to another country.

3.

On snowy days, I look to the East—

my hair as grey as Granny's

on her visits long ago—and think

of the Desert and the Forty Years,

asking, Where is Home?

~~~~~~~~~

More about Waves anthology - http://aroomofherownfoundation.org/waves/waves-anthology