To the question, nothing but a feeling of this:
An unbelonging is a commencement, to
arrive, to remake. There was a journey,
a return. Surely?
Like proudly wear the badge, a citizen
of nowhere, always somewhere geopolitical.
Even here, a coming home. Everything has its place
gathered long ago in star dust, where breathing
eventually gave life to the forming of words,
a belonging with flattened vowels.
They may be curious – or not, no matter – of place,
a discovery not far, quite close: the grandmothers
emerge on the savannah, the children
play under the acacia trees.
© 2021 Copyright Rick Frame