while in a foreign land?
Eventually, they learned to sing
the old songs, but updated the tunes.
The old melodies felt foreign. Even then
the songs were nostalgic. A warm flutter
in between the kidneys and liver for a place
no one except the elderly had seen. Families
wore far-away faces with glazed over eyes.
Home was a memory
living in holiday songs.
Some went back, discontent.Frustrated
in exile, longing for a home they never had.
But those who stayed paid it no mind.
Content to hum to themselves
the old songs in midst of the mundane:
washing soiled clothes, tilling tired gardens,
or taking their rest by the river.