There’s no place like it
they include me expansively in their gesture of home
and i crawl crumpled and squashed into their living
their satisfied smirks
that i have returned
– finally! –
make lie of the
truth
that i cannot both be here
and be me.
They rest in the confidence that
everything i remember is held in this place
and do not see that the shattered mirrors
of their cliche and nostalgia
distort them into a shape
i do not recognise.
There’s no place
that knows me like this one
but the me who is here
is not someone
i want to know.
Sarah Kivell