- Around Campus
- Around the Hub
- Opinions & Editorials
- The Week’s End
My father said you were a visitor
who would be staying in the guest house
for an indefinite number of days.
I only learned after the fact that
you lived with us while smoke billowed
above Alexandria, Durban & Cape Town,
as the displaced packed in church halls & tent
camps, between bundles of belongings salvaged
to start over somewhere else, at some opportune time.
I never met you before you moved on.
All that remained was a name Patrice
suspended in the guest house, in our home,
The absent presence of a body, of a memory;
a name I hold onto even now as a reflection
of myself, a nomad, sense of home undefined;
as an embodiment of the outsider––unnamed,
unrecognized, home being the things carried & themselves.
Who, like a name itself, endures.
Jonathan Rowe ’18