by Sarena Kabakoff
No sense of place.
No sense of home.
The words sound so harsh and hard as they fall through my mind
They point me to the realization that my homes have been so soft
My mother singing to me before bed each night
The smell of fresh-baked cookies in the over
My dad devouring novel after novel over the rim of his eyeglasses
And this softness,
These memories
Allow me to be soft
Give me the agency to feel safe
To feel helf
To move softly
To breathe
To settle
And that is the mother of self-security
That is the mother of success
It gives birth to belief in myself
To believe in the completeness of the beings around me
To show myself enough to be loved
And I am so grateful to be more into this soft place
Where I was held and taken care of.
Where I could be curious.
So now that I have grown
I can still cradle the memories
Of being loved more than I could ever know.
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| "My brother and I" by Jake Buczewski |
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