Second Generation
Yael Globerman
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The man who almost wasn’t sits down at the table.
The woman who barely made it serves him plum cake.
This is my home: It is good here. Safe.
Mother leans on Father. Father leans on shadow.
At night they tiptoe into my room in beekeeper clothing,
rub my temples with wax.
We are a very warm family.
The floor burns under our feet.
