This is my land. These hills and lakes,
valleys rich with almond and pomegranate.
I was born here, the dirt is under my nails,
rich, dark, washed down from the mountains.
I will not go gladly. You speak of the future
of leaving this land to find the new.
New friends, new family. I see the barren earth,
the desert, stone, sand,
a landscape that does not change. Time
erodes the ruins, stolen for building,
eaten by termites, only dust now,
blown in ghostly spirals, devils in sand.
You can not map me. The desert inside
is beyond your comprehension. No contours
give shape to my feelings. No careful shading
in green and brown can draw me.
By the river a farmers wife, sweating
in the heat, picks figs, her daughter
filling the basket, the boy whispering
to the donkey.
Emigré was published in Issue 14 of The Alchemy Spoon in December 2024.
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