Summary
"Home" is a poem about the refugee experience. It addresses one migrant specifically as "you," but takes fragments of different refugee stories and threads them together, beginning with the initial flight from home. It then follows the migrants on their journeys, via land, sea, train, and other methods of transportation, to a new, safer place. Once they/"you" arrive, however, the struggle is not over—the writer describes the experience of prejudice that haunts migrants once they arrive at their destinations. But the poem also emphasizes the fact that things are inevitably worse at home, where there is so much unspeakable violence. Finally, Shire ends the poem where it begins—referring to "home" as a being with the ability to speak and feel, and exploring the disjointedness that the character she is addressing experiences on her flight away from home.
Analysis
"Home" is a deeply political poem. It expresses a strong counterargument to common perceptions that refugees try to settle in countries like Europe and America to take advantage of their resources. It argues that refugees truly do not have any choice but to flee, and that to send them back home or forbid them from taking refuge would be an extreme human rights violation.
The poem begins with a statement, at once a metaphor and a kind of argument: "no one leaves home unless / home is the mouth of a shark." It addresses one or many refugees as "you," describing refugees fleeing their homes through fragmented glimpses of different narratives. Sometimes, this "you" seems to be one singular person; at others, the "you" is many different stories, all splitting at the seams as the migrants go through different traumas; at other times "you" is the reader of the poem. The poem's first section describes whole cities emptying overnight and youth being corrupted by war and violence; the speaker, settling into one solid identity for a moment, remembers a kiss with a boy who now holds a gun. This explores a loss of innocence, ushered in far too soon. Shire seems to be suggesting that violence destroys youth, forcing children to grow up far too quickly.
The third stanza goes more into detail about the passage to wherever the speaker is going. It describes traumatic memories—being held at knifepoint and given death threats, feeling fire and destruction overtake the city that was once your home. It then follows the narrator as she escapes, tearing up her passport, thus essentially erasing her identity and her connection to her home. Many refugees have to acquire false papers in order to enter new countries, then have to re-construct their identities through immigration procedures in order to apply for asylum.
The next stanza also describes images from refugee journeys. It describes passage by sea—a dangerous route that many migrants from Middle Eastern countries take, which often leads to their deaths at sea; and if they do wash up at shore, they can be kept in limbo for years at horrifically overcrowded refugee camps. It then describes passage by train, such as the passage taken by many Central American migrants as they try to make their way to the U.S.-Mexico border. A train called "La Bestia" is the method of transport for many of these refugees, most fleeing gang violence. Central American refugees on "La Bestia" can be killed during the train's passage, and women are often raped or murdered on the route. Clearly, no one would ever take this route if their home was not worse, if their lives weren't in more danger in their native countries. The speaker also describes an experience hiding in a truck, which some migrants are forced to do.
The next stanza describes a refugee camp, where many refugees are kept for years while their applications for asylum are stalled in a complex legal process. Refugee camps are unbelievably overcrowded and dangerous. The camp Moria on the Greek island of Lesbos was built to hold 2000 but is currently inhabited by 8000 refugees, who live virtually on top of each other in tents. Some of these refugees came from money and have other family members already in Europe, but are still being trapped in these camps. This stanza focuses in on one woman again, and explains that even though women are often raped in refugee camps, the camps are still safer than the gang rape that she experienced or was threatened with at home. Once again, the poem communicates its simple, brutal message, which stands starkly apart from the deeply complex policy that surrounds the refugee situation.
Every refugee story is different, so it is impossible to tell a single refugee narrative that encapsulates all refugee experience. Instead, Shire expresses solidarity with refugees, putting herself in their position, referring to them as "you" and humanizing them through intimate detail without attempting to confine them to any one identity through the use of the more ambiguous second person. By using the second person, Shire asks—even forces—the reader to identify with the refugee experience as well. To read this poem is to be addressed personally: "you" are tearing up your passport; a blade is held to "your" neck; "you" are running away. Shire communicates the trauma of the refugee experience to the reader, demanding that the reader imagine themselves in the same situation.
Home doesn't attempt to create a cohesive narrative: instead, it reflects the scattered, broken, confusing narratives that define many refugee experiences. The poem reads almost like a distorted newsreel, listing atrocities, strung together by the strength of its message. It is a plea for empathy and understanding, which many inhabitants of countries like the United States lack regarding immigrants, especially refugees. Shire then threads together racist and xenophobic sentiments, reciting the blame that refugees often receive for their situations.
But these words are still easier than the violence of home, Shire continues. Insults and racism are easier to take than the destruction of whole cities, than the sight of falling shrapnel, than seeing your entire hometown being obliterated by bombs.
The poem ends where it began: listening to "home" speaking. This cyclical narrative expresses the fact that many refugees are constantly feeling themselves pulled between home and their new lives—if they do make it to their destinations. In light of the effects of trauma on memory, it is clear that refugee narratives cannot ever be told smoothly. But Shire clearly argues for a radical, empathetic view of humanity: an understanding that violence can happen to anyone, in any city. Refugees are people fleeing their homes, for many reasons, but always because it is impossible to remain at home.
