Homes Fall Apart

Soon everything changes—
The buildings.
The stores.
The faces—
Little by little
Until it catapults into
Catastrophe.
It doesn’t take long to realize
These people are not my people;
They are not natives to an Unrecognizable land.
This ground is not my own.
It is not theirs but it is no longer mine.
The culture I once knew,
Thick and overpowering,
Has softened for these Newcomers.
The taste is lighter.
More palatable.
Stripped of seasoning and Sense.
I wonder if anyone else smells
The sickly sweetness in the air.
If their breath has also been caught
And trapped at the back of their throat.
I don’t know where I am.
I don’t know where we are.
I don’t know who they are.
But they are here.
Taking all of this space.
Holding all of my Home in their palms,
Waiting for the perfect moment
To crush it with their fingertips.
They are here,
Mouths pressed on delicate Mugs,
Tongue dripping with organic Local coffee.
They are here
Smiling at me—with curiosity or Disdain—
Waiting for me to move
(both out of their way and out of my house),
Changing all of us
And everything
And unbirthing me from what’s always been mine.