Immigration Robert Okaji The hill’s shoulders, slumped under the sky’s glare.Hardscrabble and brown grass, insects chirring.Voices in the still leaves.I ask the boy if he would like water,some bread. Fruit. No, he says, I must go.The sun flares on the barn’s metal roof. A historyof stray thoughts, of complicity and calloused hands.One tired cloud lingers overhead.I sharpen my knives, think of cold beer.Of finding home where no one knows me.Where snow falls and wood burns cool.And other incessant dreams. Robert […] Continue Reading
