My friend uses words I know: / desert, rainfall, homeland. Speaks with / dead wet sea eyes of a house where her / grandfather found peace.
Kampala is named after k-impalas and
it was founded on six hills. Now it’s twenty-
seven. Its people spill like syrup over twisting ground,
orange as carrot cake. My friend uses words I know:
desert, rainfall, homeland. Speaks with
dead wet sea eyes of a house where her
grandfather found peace. In Connecticut, in
Jerusalem, in the hills they call Himalayas—
we pinch food from fleshy earth and eat the lives
of others. Feed each other with warm hands
toasted like our distant people. Dough kneaded,
crusted, crumpled, canvas. We make molehills,
make mountains, carry them all.