Costa Rica 1

First, on the 6am flight to Newark, a short draft of a poemito. Written to relieve the anxiety felt with travel. An immediately effective cure...

Echoes in Blue

Dawn arrives on eyelashes
Percussive morning lilt
Relieving the weight
Of night's lawless roaming.
The little one sleeps on
Unknowingly vulnerable
Camped in pirate jammies
Absorbing the morning light
To later reflect back at the world,
Radiate the practiced joy of a native Sufi.

Then I arrived in Liberia and the happiness of being *home* hit me. Home being wherever I am foreign, with few possessions, little language and generous time to drift.
My native tongue the spitanglish mixed in with Turkish and Persian, a poetic mix of its own, recalling the appropriateness of certain languages to certain parts of speech, and inflexed with the homophone words across the pure languages, words with vastly different meanings.

I wrote a ton today, scrawled in a notebook. This iPhone typing is impossible. More later.