My hometown was on fire
Not in a poetic, romantic way
Back home,
there were letters that did not tangle my tongue,
scents that encouraged my appetite
and voices that were familiar
Like my mother’s.
My hometown was still on fire
when I passed
through polished towns
and green villages.
My skin was absorbing
the warmth of the sun
I had previously encountered
I almost smiled
in relief
But I did not
Because again my hometown was on fire
And I was not.

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