To My Homesick Immigrant Mother

You described it well,
That homeland you left behind.
Over and over
          Your words heaved like waves
          That tossed your ship towards us:
          Hopes rose as tears fell.

Describe it once more:
Those hills, their green heads dreaming
In pink haze of dawn,
          Your village snuggling
          In sleepy shadows below,
          Unscathed— yet— by war,

How your golden grain
Rippling softly in breezes
Was different from ours:
          There, wind whispered its
          Secrets in your heart language;
          You lived its refrain.

Here, whirlwind years blend
Strange new harmonies: your ways
And ours and others’—
          Once, you heard their sighs
          Inside your most secret heart:
          “Now you’re home, my friend.”

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