“Diaspora” by Faith S. Holsaert (poetry, ’82)

if there was a curtain we didn’t notice
if there was something other than raspberries
among dusty leaves we didn’t see

we saw how the path wound up from the creek
we knew we had to carry
we knew the old man in the next town
we knew our coats smelled of pear
and our cat, we knew our cat

Maybe the portal was there all along
when we ate ramen and watched TV
not talking spent
after we had danced

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