“Diaspora” by Faith Holsaert
Our inheritance in the Diaspora is to live in this inexplicable space–Dionne Brand
if there was a curtain we didn’t notice
if there was something other than raspberries
among dusty leaves we didn’t see
we saw how the path wound up from the creek
we knew we had to carry
we knew the old man in the next town
we knew our coats smelled of pear
and our cat, we knew our cat
Maybe the portal was there all along
when we ate ramen and watched TV
not talking spent
after we had danced
we are past the curtained gateway
have passed through the membrane
this end has lost the other end
we live where our memories can not
except as clearwings in their brief season
this is an inexplicable place
we had to leave our bundled words behind
the new discount words
do not fit like our own
can someone teach us to live here
an exile is not a guided tour
the others we think are tourists
we grew on a soil
that fed the eyes of potatoes
that received our offered berries
Do not say we are
this place where we have fallen
[diaspora, accepted by potomac review (spring 2017) ]
