Do you miss me?

The days run like clockwork, only the clock no longer works. Morning calls turn to market
lists and plastic shopping bags heavy with ingredient swaps. My arm aches, as does my soul.
Rooster calls … do you miss me? Local wares differ from items I seek and customs I long for.
Coveted spices, fresh papaya, roadside sheds staffed by neighbors and stocked with farm-fresh
eggs. Kind faces differ from the souls I crave. Neighbor … do you miss me? Solitaire cards decorate
the kitchen’s wooden table. Partner … do you miss me? I question myself, as water boils on the electric stove. I stir the pot, hoping to simmer – even boil – feelings of gratitude that evaporate in the stock I’ve brewed. My reflection stares – tries to smile – back at me, though I do not recognize the woman I’ve become. One who traveled rocky waters and murky pathways to land on foreign soil. Fortune
rained down
on me and granted
me shelter. Why, then, do I crave more?
Blazing sun rises
and warms my aging body.
Home … do you miss me?