I am from a place far away.
Sometimes I forget what it looked like.
Sometimes I forget the smell, the taste of it.
But not really.
It lives in my bones.
The scent in my hair.
The dirt of it under my fingernails.
Atlanta clay deep in my throat.
Iran in my underbelly.
Greece in my limbs.
New Jersey in my collarbone.
Massachusetts around my neck.
I am from Austria and Turkey and who knows where.
I am from frozen yogurt after school,
West 4th Street at 2am, burgers and beer
And fried chicken beneath neon signs.
I am from watermelons and feta cheese.
Baklava and love. Peanut butter, pretzels, and jazz.
I am from lands I will never know.
Exiled. Emigrated. Fled. Lost.
I am from home and return back there,
Look for it everywhere.
I come and go and come and go over and over again,
Searching for something maybe I will never find.
Or maybe it’s been here all along.
In my collarbone, my underbelly, my neck–-
Under my fingernails and in my throat.
Maybe it is right here in my limbs, pounding
In my chest, radiating down my thighs.
I am from places far away and closer than my breath.
I am from here, there, nowhere.
I am from far away.
I am home.