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Simon Bridges Apr 17
Identity has no attachment
                          Where from
It is held down as a constant
                          To cover the years

   Identity is suggestive
Fluid in our perception
                As an ice cube
     Between your palms
                        Dissolves
     To slip through your fingers
Sara Barrett Jan 11
Boxes became my constant companions,
each house a temporary heartbeat.
I built homes with one hand holding a child,
the other gripping resilience.
A glimpse into the life of a mother constantly on the move, where each new house represents both a fresh start and an ongoing struggle. This poem captures the emotional weight of packing up a life, balancing motherhood with the physical and mental toll of relocation. With resilience as her foundation, she rebuilds, transforming each temporary space into a home, one box at a time.

— The End —