In Search Of My New Country - Poem by Sankar Roy
I look for you in the miasma
of the wild thicket. In the gentle tap
of my chisel, I peel through the walnut bark
to restore the lost face of you.
I smell cedar’s warm, friendly scent
and inquire of an anonymous Arroyo,
your Ojibwa name. I explore
your Inuit face in the northern light
and look for your footprints
in soggy moss as I hear an iceberg moving,
opening the passage for caribous.
I seek your silhouette in the flickering fire,
a dog sleeping inside your tipi.
I watch the moon going down
into the deep of your chasm. I build a crown
of maple leaves, tint my face
in rooster blood. I scribble your map
in the wet ground and build your bust
using river mud.
I moan for your song
in the croon of night, alive
with crickets’ drone and alligators’ sighs.
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