If you’re not able
To firmly plant roots
In the soil
You’re in:
Sometimes you
Have to learn
How to grow wings.

Moreno Valley
CALIFORNIA  

My father built a 
Jungle gym in our backyard,
Outfitted with a rope swing
And slide.

One day the slide
Lays flat in the grass
At a yardsale. 

We’re selling 
Some possessions.

At three
I become
A nomad. 

Grants Pass
OREGON

My sister and I paddle near
The mouth of a natural rock dam
Cradled in the Rogue River.
The green water catches me,
But my sister grabs my arm. 

Eventually we let ourselves
Slip through the center
Discovering it never was 
As dangerous as it seems. 

Nashville
TENNESSEE

My father’s surgery 
Finishes in record time.
The cords and beeping 
Machines don’t frighten me.
His stillness, like a corpse
Feels normal,
Not unsettling. 

His bellowing laughter 
Returns one week post-op.
He chuckles loudly at 
Jokes told by his kid sister. 
So much so 
That he fears
His stitches 
Might burst. 

Sevierville
TENNESSEE

At my father’s funeral
His older sister kisses
Bright coral lipstick
Onto his papery, sallow cheek. 

On the lime and sage hillside,
Periwinkle butterflies
Flutter around us 
As the workers
Cover his grave
With burnt-orange soil. 

It’s amusing
Remembering colors 
When your world becomes
Black and white. 

Rome
ITALY 

I lose my breath
Marveling at the marble Mary
Cradling her adult son 
Inside a crowded St. Peter’s Basilica. 

I can’t cry publicly
For my father, 
But I can release a tear
For grief chiseled in
Exquisite beauty. 

Florence 
ITALY

The sun tucks itself
Behind the golden Tuscan hills.
I traipse down to the
Ponte Vecchio,
Then follow the lyrics of
“Con te Partiro”
Haunting the stone arcades
Besides Brunelleschi’s Duomo.
I continue strolling
Along the abandoned Arno
Until dawn. 

I didn’t know it then
But I was teaching myself 
How to heal with beauty. 

Bangkok
THAILAND

I’m invited to a Ganesha ceremony 
Where women donning white
Dance and give flower offerings 
To a possessed man
Smoking five cigarettes
Protruding from his grin. 
He spits chewed crimson betel nut
Into my palm
Offering a fortune.  

I didn’t know it then
But I was learning
There are infinite ways 
To know and love the world. 

Vieng Chan
LAOS 

During morning alms 
The young monks chant a prayer 
While we pour spring water 
Into the dry, red dirt
Dispelling the evil
Spirit haunting our dreams. 

At the baci ceremony
The elder invokes blessings
For our good health and luck,
Tying white silk threads
Around our wrists. 

I didn’t know it then
But I was learning
There are many ways 
To cleanse and bind one’s soul. 

Land Between the Lakes
KENTUCKY 

I saunter privately along the trail
Skirting the murky
Marsh water. 

With each step
I release tears, 
Marking the anniversary of
My father’s passing.
This is the
First time
I’m letting myself
Feel everything.

A black snake in the tall grass
Slithers fast across 
The wooden tracks,
Startling me,
Then reminding me:

Snakes are symbols 
For transformation. 

Kabul
AFGHANISTAN

In the morning I greet
The bazaar shopkeepers in Dari.

Before lunch I thank
my security detail
In Danish. 

At dinner I listen
To my boyfriend hum 
Jokes in Afrikans. 

Of the words and phrases
I learn, the most relevant
Is Naseeb,
the Arabic term 
For destiny or fate. 

Incheon
SOUTH KOREA

I sit along the railing
Of the cement wall
Bordering the Yellow Sea
And watch the planes
Heading for the Incheon airport
Disappear into the clouds. 

I’m reminded of 
Why planes, take-offs, and landings
Feel familiar. 
I’m reminded of who drew me here,
My father, 
The person I’m always reaching for
On the other side 
Of these sunsets. 

Cairo 
EGYPT 

I sit nauseous and confused 
On the hot, dusty pavement,
The flesh on my right elbow
And the tops of my feet
Tore open,
While the old man 
Splashes water on my face
To keep me alert.

If my ending is
Written by a battered white SUV
Knocking me down 
Then I accept this fate,
But if I am awake 
Tomorrow, I’ll never 
Ever again
Abandon 
My tired
Aching body. 

I didn’t know it then
But I was learning:
If you don’t listen
To the universe’s whispers
They’ll transform into 
A crescendoing crash.

Santiago
SPAIN 

A couple ahead of me
Holds hands while
Smiling generously
As we wobble
towards Santiago. 

After six days
Of walking 100 kilometers
Through the comical rain,
The sun peaks its
Head out
Beaming brightly over the 
Cathedral’s towers. 

Inside the hall, 
I see my father
Sitting patiently in the 
Wooden pews
Waiting for me
Amongst the crowd. 

I recognize him
By his blue eyes 
And his knowing smile. 

Tallinn
ESTONIA

I open the heavy glass door
To the National Archives office. 
My heart feels
Light and ready 
To climb higher
Up my family tree
And towards other
Empty, vacant branches. 

The shy archivist
Hands me a post it
With my great-grandmother’s name
Written across it. 
“I think I’ve found her,” 
He says, placing the note
In front of me. 

I rush to her
Old house located in the 
Wintery grey Kopli neighborhood. 
The address is like 
Coordinates to a new direction, 
A new beginning. 

I feel ready
At last
To give my wings
A gentle rest.  

Iowa City
IOWA 

I write these words 
In fertile soil 
Where I can 
Plant my roots 
And build a garden, 
Abundant and welcoming,
To any and all
Whether they are 
At rest 
Or in flight.