“Where are you from?” she asked me, well-meaning eyes expecting an answer that would fit neatly into this cup of tea after church world we’d stumbled into like refugees from another planet.
I blinked. My voice stumbling lost in my dark throat…
“Where are you from?” she asked me, well-meaning eyes expecting an answer that would fit neatly into this cup of tea after church world we’d stumbled into like refugees from another planet.
I blinked. My voice stumbling lost in my dark throat…
This weeks poem… on my experience of moving countries.