Life, as we know it

 

I was born in exile, the quintessential misplaced zygote.

I will die in diaspora.

The dirt under my feet isn't mine, borrowed. I take a fistful, breathe the rich humus.

I know it's not mine.

What changes life brings doesn't matter -

I was born in exile and will die in diaspora. Dead, my body will rot, welcomed into the soil.

Maybe I'll be home at last.

Quiet desperation under the dim noon sun.