(I was supposed to write this a year and a half ago. what can I say, except it takes me a while to digest)

in my grandfather’s town
olive trees tall as ents
greeted by a marching band
the local ladies and gents
all so good looking
except for hairy arms
wrists and necks, dark and thick
from errands to the farm

then came bovalino, and
I saw such simplicity
my cousins had an orange grove
fruit was falling off the trees—
I felt myself in that cracked pavement
I’m not just going on

“the ionian sea is a green crystal
lonely in may, yes, but swimmable…”
we lay down on pebbles
you were so beautiful
you were there
all this time, apart
all that we have, shared

my land is a foreign land
filled with people like me
my eyes and smile
even the dimple.
you wonder where you come from
wonder if you’ll always be there
there was a boy who came from the hills
there is a boy who loves the sea
now I finally understand
I come from

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