As I clutched my suitcase …
 thick hot sweat
 built in the slits
 of my palms, which
 shook holding its cool
 metal brace. We walked
 into day-winds, thick
 as dried out paint
 on unwashed canvas.
 The sky was painted
 daffodil yellow. The ground
 was a dirty grey.
 There was a metal bird:
 an array of fearful,
 forgotten
 paint.

 **

 Missing the feeling of home
 I smell the iron rust
 of the Municipal Gardens.
 The sour tang of home still
 sits on the tip of my tongue
 like the zest of sweet citrus
 fizzing.

 **

 I did not know
 of grey, gravel roads,
 or the bright buzzing,
 of scarlet cars.
 I did not know
 of lonely red-bricked houses,
 gazing strangers,
 standing next to next,
 military officers, in endless rows.
 I did not know,
 of silence in the streets,
 or the secret whispers on the buses,
 or the sly gestures of restaurants.
  
 **
 
 I know now
 In this place,
 where I did not know,
 the things I did not know
 embrace me in ways
 I didn’t know.