Home?
Who could call this home?
Who would take this weedy corner,
plagued with briars and deadly nightshade?
Who would want to live between abandon buildings, where jagged sidewalks lie speckled with lead paint?
Who would risk their life to defend a home
among the ruins of an old laundry where women and children once sweat their lives away for pennies--
A home surrounded by broken glass and garbage
Who would call this a home?
Yet some small bird threatens me from among the weeds.
She curses me for treading on her territory.
Patricia Hilliard
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