-------Flower-------
We do not talk
about the old country
As if by erasure
we might reckon
with that loss.
It has been not yet
one hundred years
But our story
is almost
gone.
Assimilation
is slow death.
A pledge
of allegiance
to forget.
But we cannot
forget.
For we are more
than the race
America gave us
In exchange for our language
and songs
More than the dispossessed
made immigrant
on another's land.
We are
more human than that.
Miracle
and memory
of soil and sea
A people
of a place upon this Earth
Come a long way
but still
related
Like seeds
to the flower of home.
-------
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