IF NEPTUNE WERE MY HOMEHow lonely would I be if Neptune were my home
and all this glorious green earth a stifling strangeness
newly discovered on a journey through time and space?
How might these flowers I picked this morning
to grace the table where I take my meals
seem now to me if I had not known them since my birth?
When I see the fragile Hmong women cross the busy street
wearing still the black pajama costumes of their native land,
I can’t begin to know the pain they feel at having lost
all hope of ever seeing once again the hills of Laos
or smelling a jungle storm’s electric wetness.
Does the heart ever stop hunting for signs of home?
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