by Aiya Rabah
Aiya Rabah (she/her) is a student and writer from New York. When she’s not busy with homework she can be found exploring New Jersey with her family, reading, and taking pictures of her cats. She studies English Writing and Criminal Justice.
When it’s your land
yours
the soil recognizes your blood,
welcomes you home in full bloom,
she smiles down on you in the form of crisp rain and gentle sunbeams
because she knows you won’t hurt her
When it’s your house
home
you know which stairs creak
the way a pianist knows scales,
can create beauty from strings and tiles
she lets you walk because she knows you won’t stomp
When it’s Home
always has been, always will be
she weeps, she waits for the day
when the kind folk will return
after the smoke has cleared and the birds come out instead
she’ll welcome you back
and never let you go