I am home but not home.
My mind wonders to the noisy streets of Gbarnga and Voinjama
the muddy and bumpy roads to Foya and Bellefini.
I find myself sitting
in the Peace Huts in Kalahuan and Gbattilla
listening to stories
of suffering and hope.
I look out my Minneapolis window
I expect to see lush green wild terrain
red and yellow flowers
mountains in the distance.
I only see manicured lawns
bare trees and flat, flat land.
I walk but do not hear "Hello, white man."
I hear nothing not even "Hello."
I look for dark faces but
mostly pale white faces pass me
only occasionally does a rich deep dark
skinned human being come my way.
Yes, I am home but not home.
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