R. H. W. DILLARD  |  From What Is Owed the Dead

Exile 2

Old Ovid, wrote home, sad complaint, Tristia,
Wet weather, cold, those hairy men, begging,
Ex Ponto, forgiveness, return, but no return
For you, thousands, millions, the Bantu here, other
Side of town (06/30/05), extracted, killing ground,
Planted here, across street, Evergreen Burial Park,
, grandparents, parents, then, soon or late,
Carved stone awaits, place of final exile, abode,
The Bantu, beans, “JESUS SAVES,” hand to mouth,
Like you, Nelly, know “ein Fremder hat immer,”
Always stranger, strange land, like an orphan,
“Seine Heimat im Arm,” home held close,
Even in chimneys’ shadow, clutched like Zohar,
And words, letters, sounds, looted, switched,
Mystic’s wisdom, all is exile away from light,
Nervous or not, afraid, in darkness, exile, always.  

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