Who needs to be at peace in the world? It helps to be between wars, to die
a few times each day to understand your father’s sky, as you take it apart
piece by piece and can’t feel anything, can’t feel the tree growing under
your feet, the eyes poking night only to find another night to compare it to.
Whoever heard of turning pain into hummingbirds or red birds—
haven’t we grown? What does it mean to be older? Maybe a house with-
out doors can still survive a storm. Maybe I can’t find the proper way to
rebel or damn it, I can’t leave. I want to, but you grow inside of me. And
as I watch you, before I know it, I’m too heavy, too full of you to move.
Maybe that’s what they meant when they said you shouldn’t love a country
too much.