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|metalhead (profile) wrote, |
on 8-18-2009 at 7:45pm
|Subject: A Taste of Home
My eardrums fought against the pressure change,
everyone exhaled and the wings shuddered
open. The engine's hollow roar dissolved
and the lights ticked on.
Not-my-bags trundled endlessly before
my mechanical muscles reached for one they
recognized and swung its familiar bulk
to smash on the cart.
Shway shway! Fee combyutar dakhil, hajji!
The words come only after I say them -
like half-formed pearls oozing and popping at
the back of my throat.
This place feels mushy and incoherent
like old food re-found behind molars,
but it tastes like my bedsheets and smells like
something left behind.