Home, with family, with scars.
All I ask for:
Peace on earth.
Or in the house.
Or at least a quiet night to sleep.
(The large oozing kind)
On the nose of the woman at work with the straight hair and sharp teeth.
Bitterly awful weather to give us a neutral topic of conversation.
For the parts of my heart stolen to return with interest.
Three wise men bearing canisters of patience, humility and wisdom.
Also short term memory loss.
For my uncle to smile as if he knew me. For my husband to relax as though he’d forgotten.
At least two hours around the board game table, no screaming.
To grasp at each moment as it barrels past, however elusive and strange it might seem, and hold it to the memory of this day.
To find an unnoticed place to bandage my wounds.
To bandage the wounds of all the other refugees from this day, this year.