Fusion – An Immigration Story

Worlds fused
confused
as I coil
from one
to the other and back

Northerly winds sooth cool pseudo heat.
Gone are the scorched canyons.

The taste of sweet viscous dates
fades away with sticky maple sap drips

salted sea diluted by a shimmering lake.

We too are mellower now,
as we grow older in this calm country

igneous skin softened by snow drifts
age spots etched by thunderstorms
like scattered basalt rocks on a hill
that was once a battlefield.

But now,

now it’s a winery.

so I drink red wine
in silent salute
and reminisce
of a young country
and a young woman.

Of war,
acceptance,
and loss.

Then I sift through the pebbles on the beach
carefully picking pieces of beach glass holding them up

as a cold sun
sets over Sarnia
and a hot moon
looms over
the Mediterranean

I am home.