EVERYBODY
IS A REFUGEE
If you live long enough,
even if you
never leave
your birthplace,
inevitably,
eventually,
changes –
invasions,
viruses, floods,
love and hate –
eruptions of
some sort
will transform
or eradicate
whatever
you’re used to.
I’m reading
ancient history
and now can
predict the future
Garden-hugged
homes
where I
live are being
demolished
for highrises -
stacks of windows
you can’t open
to release lockdowned
songs --
a
cement-spreading world
of fleeing
people blocking
the moon
and stars
as the sky recedes.
Moving in
next door are
strangers
who look away.
Your doctor,
in case you
haven’t
noticed, has been
replaced by
a politician to pre-
scribe
innovative treatments
to silence you.
Just a
matter of time before
you will be
caringly sped
with a
lethal drug to exit
the home where
you
no longer belong.
Efficient
new ovens recently
perfected
will leave
no
evidence, no history,
clearing
space for documentation
by those
making the world
a better
place
for the numbers
replacing the
names.
Making no
judgments –
the earth
rules –
even the
Black Death,
which
removed a third of
Europe’s
fourteenth century
people
had its benefits,
so
historians say:
more pay
and freedom
for the
peasant workers.
My past is
in pieces
in my hands.
I’m holding
on to it.
It contains
many countries
and all time.
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Lilija Valis has lived on three continents, in some major cities, including Washington, DC, and San Francisco when there was music in the streets and strangers hugged each other, published in book, literary and e-zine magazines, as well as nine international anthologies, and performed in public libraries, parks, old theatres, pubs, among other places. Asked to step side by COVID until it finishes its performance.
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