Poem: Starlight feeds the grass

 carpets laid out 

being sanitized by the sun

children, not knowing dust

trusting apples unripe are footballs 

or bullets of flexed arms

beyond their milk-breath

are their shawled mothers

holding court over fires

that have burnt for a thousand

and a thousand more will be fed

and beyond their workful gossip

are their husbands

keepers of cola, rinsed hands of mint, jewellery adjusters

for the mule; they are God, giver of water

the village road, the whole world

from four mosques, four voices call

the echo wraps around the mountains

they repeat it louder and twice more

this is not my country 

yet it feels familiar 

 as a  forgotten memory,

like shared -bread family 

in the deep eye of the night 

cicadas sing that old refrain;

"home is where you are from

and where you belong again"