I pull the curtains over tight so the
sticky light will not let in the morning.
I miss waking up in Europe with the
strange European light coming in pouring
in the narrow windows of Dutch Tower
houses or busy Berlin apartment
streets with kebabs cooking and kids crying
the stillness of frosty Dublin suburbs
in the winters and the bite of the air
on bare cheeks and knuckles and the eerie
sound of invisible birds and clock towers belling on Sundays resonating in the crystal air.

And I start thinking about all the things I never did which is sometimes worse than thinking about all the things I have done

mama and papa
i long for your warm embrace
but you both passed on

“How do you feel?” I ask again. I, knowing the answer, poke my head into the lion's den. I feel the ghost of your frustrations floating about in the confined space. It haunts the room as our shadows strangle each other.

“What is the opposite of homesick?“ You ask.

“Homesick, ” I answer.