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Poetry

Poem

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as companion
to her zaatar sandwiches
raining olive oil –

daily,
my grandmother
cried salt-water tears
into her soil
growing cucumbers
plucked
and offered her daughter
as sustenance
for the long walk
to Canada.

it is why
salt-water seeds of home
root
and spring
in my mother’s belly.

-an immigrant’s mother’s intention

 


This poem was originally published on acrossthemargin.com and has been reproduced with permission.


 

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