Good luck getting me out of your neighborhood 

And your lawn

I’ll survive all your fancy sprays

And the bomb

Maybe try wishing on me instead 

Have some fun 

Watching the seeds pulled by the wind

As they run 

I meet her in the IKEA after work

wearing the same black flats.

I see her push through the bricks in the divider

And I know she smells like chamomile.

She’s the hottest soldier since Joan of Arc

and she fights for peace at home.

To the plants I downsized,
To the ducks I won’t feed again,
The cats I won’t spot,
And the laundry I forgot.

The small dogs who will never know,
Why I had to leave,
Will haunt me the most,
Along with the ghosts.

Scenes of hopes never realized,
Fears faced and never met
Seas wept, tigers tamed,
And counters stained.

On the years of yearning,
The generations in exile,
The nights gone by
In the belly of the whale

Is escape possible?
Is it desirable?
To yearn is to live.
To strive is to be.

We were marked for this,
A people known by the creator,
Known as the daisies of the field
But invisible till a crucial juncture.