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a visit to the old country
the sun bounces gaily off the little umbrellas
at the sidewalk cafe where two
sleek young men are talking excitedly and me
i'm here, sipping my kaffee kirsch, watching
the people and trying desperately
to look as if i belong here
the blood of this country runs through me
this town is where my father was born
i bear his name yet
i have all rights to be here
but there is something undefinable stamping
me as a foreigner and
i am accepted, yes, but as a tourist or
a distant relative come for a visit
not as a prodigal daughter who's found
her way home at last
the two men are looking at me, probably
eyeing me as an easy, naive tourist
there, that told them! i bet they never figured
i could speak a few words of their language, too
i belong here, damn it, and someday i will live here
the blood of my parents flows in me
that is my only citizenship
1982