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a mother's teachings

Sukhvir Kaur

my childhood was a king size bed

where all 4 of us slept,

while mama and dad found comfort on the ground


it was the small kitchen

that constantly smelled like masala

and always opened its arms to passing through-ers


i never saw home in any house

for there was no need

to bend the knee to cold bricks

because home was the wrap-around porch of your arms, mama


home was encased in tiny moments:

sun-shining, lazy napping, silly dancing, cha sipping moments

that taught us that no body of bricks can house love



you told us to find home in each other


when i say i am homesick

it is not for loss of bare walls



it is the sorrow

that comes when

distance replaces hugs


phones replace cracked mugs

it is the inevitable mourning that follows the end of childhood

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Sukhvir is a J.D. turned stay at home mum to a wonderful toddler by day and an aspiring writer, scribbling away under fluorescent lighting by night. She weaves elements of her Punjabi heritage, faith, childhood, and love stories into her poems. You can find some of her pieces published in the Santa Clara Review, Poets Choice, Anti-Langorous Project, and Prevention at the Intersections.

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