Home was an uncomplicated space—
a quiet verticality with room to stretch,
not a place for harshly phrased missives
nailed to the door, parting the lovely grain.

This new country is no promised land.
The natives are ill-mannered—
all teeth and lips, they cluster in throngs
with a great cacophony.

Was the mother land that bad?
Its ravages worse than this so-called peace?
We do not refuse the language out of pride—
it is simply too loud to think.