his big eyes looking up at me. “Can we go home now?”
I looked at the frail, smiling man behind me. I looked at the boy who had saved him. For thirty years, I thought ‘home’ was the house with the golden vines, the shed in the back, the lie of my childhood. But ‘home’ was not a geographic location. It was the survivors standing with me.
“Yes, baby,” continue reading …
