i’ve made homes for you the way my mother during
the 80s fed cut fruit to small children like the spine of
a book the way the smell of luggage bags back from
hagere smell like mekelle and wild pears and spice
soaked months after the trip every memory of you in
incense smoke and became a country the way a small
home only needs the single light to light up three rooms
my sister said once i could live in a box and still be
happy i tell her i hope to be a woman some day that i
live within a hyphen and constantly translate the
smell of grain a world over

Semhal Teklu is a poet by way of Vancouver, British Columbia. She is currently completing her BA degree at the University of Ottawa.