• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 12
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Stamped

We never leave our birth day home,
geography re-corded soon,
though cut had brought a nestled breast,
a rest from wrestle, water break.
Recorded as our nationhood,
stamped birthmark on our flesh for life,
however many ports we pass,
it lingers, genes, though unbeknown.
The site our mother found her time,
the place with which she came to terms,
and though we join in global spins
we would touch down where niche begins.
One step, where toddle first admired,
to send, record delivery,
our scripts of connectivity –
as ley lines traced the ancient net,
where cradles rocked, lays, lullabies.
Postcard, birthday, pillar to post,
some sorting office in the clouds,
for city, hamlet, street, or block,
to drop, box in our homeland’s door.
Though purple haze – or never moved –
as countless creatures make their way,
homing pigeons, Sargasso eels,
that magnet draws to our first love,
cap, satchel, pouch, mail, our behalf.

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