"A Land Not Mine" by Shireen Madon

Here's to morning air; precise lightthrough gypsum walls and the smokeof a neighbor's house on firethat stuck on our skin for weeks, that Ididn't wash off, hoping it woulddarken my hair. I memorized AnnaAkhmatova and thought of your hair. Ofwinter and a log in the fire.Instead, foraging balsam, mulledwine, fetal amaryllis, dead weather.Instead, familiar crowd in an auntie's kitchen,a moon I could not share with you,an intruding vermillion off the lake—a warmmouth opening with cool morning words.Instead, numb to the organs. Instead, prayer:Oh, Lake Michigan, my winter deity, you lost sea.