My daughters are bleeding
over men who mirror their father.
My sons come home
drenched in the smell of illegality,
I wash the blood off of their jeans
weeping love into the red until the stains lift.

My husband’s face is scarred,
it wrinkles like brown tough dates
whilst he reels off stories from home,
he tells his own sons about touching sleeping women.
I wake up on the bathroom floor, stick ******* down my throat
until I can rid myself of his touch.

My country is so far away
and I came here for refuge
but this country does not feed us
and my children are starving.
I worked 52 hours this week
and I should’ve never left home.

My father-in-law blew his brains out,
my mother’s cancer has rotted her from her inside.
My children are growing up and forgetting me,
my small house has grown large without the voices of my children
and I am far from home.
I should’ve never left home.