By DUJIE TAHAT
I’m not really from here
unless I marry someone from here.
My father worked the fields.
My mother teaches kids from here.
My uncles worked Alaskan canneries
yet no form says I’m from here.
The myth is
it’s mine, where I’m from. Say, Here,
and I’ll look. I know I have no book unless
I tell you I’m from there.
Honey. Olives. Fish over rice.
What did I leave out? From here
anyone could sing a great song.
Here is where tragedy really comes from.
It’s not a random stranger who steals
your goat. It’s the people you trust, here,
the most, the ones you’re closest to
Dujie, so close to from here.