Poem

Lights sparkle, fiery and hazy
in lukewarm water jets
pounding my numb skin.
A taste of being almost home.

Back when I was little
and a bath
involved
me and one of my parents,
in a bathroom
filled
with bright plastic buckets,
I'd close my eyes
and enjoy the feel of water
pouring over my face,
warm and caressing.

I didn't know then
what it meant -
I am just beginning
to understand the real meaning
of home.

When the simple sensation
of water coursing down my face
and washing away tears
feels like a caress from all those years ago.

When I can almost smell
the flavors
in my mother's kitchen -
fresh coriander,
tamarind,
freshly-grated tender coconut
for festivals
I can no longer track.

When I dance on the edge
baring my heart
for strangers to read,
trying to find a niche
I can hide in.

When all I want is my freedom
and a kiss, maybe a hug -
so badly that it almost hurts.