My home is not so much a place

Places are for others, not for me

Home is the love on my mother’s face,

A look of love that means we’re free


My home is not the sum of stuff

My stuff adds up to nothing much

Home is a bond when times are tough,

My hand in my father’s hand, a touch


My home is not where I sleep at night

I rest in darkness, sleeping anywhere

Home is trust and sharing the light,

Staying together with those who care


My home is a memory, fading fast

Faraway whispers, remind me of when

I lived in a town in a time long past

With friends I will never meet again


My home is in transit, we travel alone

Towards a new life, a new land, a new start

Through spaces and places with faces unknown

I will carry my home, deep in my heart

displacement open call poets corner

Irene Buckler

Irene’s poem is about the experience of refugee children on the move with their parents.  Inspired by Irene’s concern at how such instability affects the development of children who through no fault of their own find themselves displaced and on the move for extended periods of time.