In Israel, I am
fluid in two rhythms,
fluent in two idioms –
in perpetual translation.
Re-entry jars me.
The landscape flattens.
Color dissolves.
Music dissipates.
And old rooms no longer
contain me.
I am a sea creature
outgrowing my salt water shell.
Dreaming of rapid molting
and my next
best Home.
No comments:
Post a Comment