Jordan calls to my bones
In throbs of Bedouin drumbeats,
Saying: here your heart is home.

Like the muds of the dead sea,
I have fermented in my history,
And it sits heavily upon me

sealing and
healing my cuts and scrapes with
stinging mystery.

In the lights of Amman
And the fields of Shatana
There is a call mustering me,
A call to come home,
finally

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.