| I left home without saying goodbye | to anyone | |||||||||||
| I’m sorry | ||||||||||||
| but this country is full | of distances | |||||||||||
| my loss of words | is just one of them | |||||||||||
| another is the highway | they keep building | |||||||||||
| men in orange vests | where do they go | |||||||||||
| when they close their eyes | is it in | |||||||||||
| to someone’s arms | ||||||||||||
| when I close my eyes | ||||||||||||
| my eyes open | in a cave | of mourning | ||||||||||
| it’s easy | to surround yourself | |||||||||||
| with what is not | what is no longer | |||||||||||
| another distance | is the road | |||||||||||
| between the eyes | looking out | |||||||||||
| and the eyes looking in | another is my mother | |||||||||||
| land | my father | |||||||||||
| looking back | across the ocean | at himself | ||||||||||
| looking ahead | across the ocean | |||||||||||
| some people | look at us | & say | namaste | |||||||||
| some people | say terrorist | |||||||||||
| their point | is that we belong to different | |||||||||||
| ways of saying hello | ||||||||||||
| & we will go | into separate goodbyes | |||||||||||
| another distance | for strangers | for estrangements | ||||||||||
| I try to remember the last thing | my father said | |||||||||||
| to me | resurrect | the exact words | ||||||||||
| not just the meaning | which could have been nothing | |||||||||||
| other than | when are you coming home | |||||||||||
| he means | to call back | the son | I wasn’t | |||||||||
| my first | distance | & where | are the men | in | orange | |||||||
| vests | where | is the road | they were | building | ||||||||
