Returning

Coming back I wonder where
Home is. I have offi­cial stamps
From thieves to say Enter, Stay.
I want to ask Aunty Sue, how do I
Apply for a pass­port, from you?

We came from China, from Russia, Ukraine,
Poland, Ger­many, Czech; from Vietnam,
Kosovo, South Sudan, Afgh­anistan, Iraq.
We are but the latest squatters,
The latest refugees, in an unbroken line.

My dye­dushka, Misha, ideal­ist; refugee.
People in the streets protest­ing inhu­man conditions.
It’s easy to blame us for upris­ings, we’re different.
Retali­ate. Per­se­cute. Target the Jews.
His father injured in a pogrom,
Came home one day when Misha was 13,
bleed­ing from the head.
As soon as he is old enough, he leaves.
Away from camps and the burn­ing stetl,
Away from hatred and hunger.
His par­ents stayed. Stayed and died.
Doba of hunger in 1933,
A famine imposed by heartlessness.
Iosef in 1941, who knows where —
Babiy Yar? Ukraine was over­run with Nazis,
Build­ing camps, shoot­ing first, and never asking.

Home. Am I home?
Woomera. Baxter. Maribyrnong. Port Hedland.
Now we build camps, breed hate. I do not do enough.
My her­it­age is one of ques­tion­ing and tikkun olam:
If not now, when? If not me, who?
Oh Aunty Sue, how do I apply
For a pass­port, from you?