100 words – Motherland

Even on the brightest days,
bellyfull and eyeshine —
Even with the sweetest touch,
ardor and promise —
Even when the memory of friends
is weighty with assurance,
with kindness,
with connection,
with an establishment of joy that for the world is enough —
Even when taste should be honeygold —
Even when surrounded by love —
that black dog’s breath
is warm in my ear,
reminding me of home,
paying for my aching spine
and trembling hands
in the currency of the Motherland
whispering in my native tongue,
“Never, ever forget,
you whore of Babylon,
your time is forever not simply borrowed,
but stolen.”

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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