Neither Here Nor There

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NEITHER HERE NOR THERE


There's always a famine in the old 

country. That’s why it’s the old country. 


And we never quite acquire the cadence

of the new. What bits we do is through 


our children, who we hope are prepared

for life here but fear they’ll forget 


where they're from, though when they

press the question, we’re dumb. Come


to think of it, we can't quite say ourselves.

Where does one locate the ache 


of late September, the place abandoned

train-tracks whisper towards? It's tangled, sure


but they're not grown over yet, these ties

past the old country to the older, root-


land we hope to god to make for

one long-awaited afternoon.


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