Macalla

Home by Haig Shishmanian

it's a little different being out of water
when you're a fish used to swimming
in this room where no one understands
i belong in theory
but they welcome me, a foreigner
it's funny
i've lived in this place longer than they
and my clock is set to the local time
but the words don't come
i hear them and i feel them and
i taste them but
i don't understand the language
come sit and take a load off, dear guest, dear brother, my soul
where do you come from and where are you going?
why did you leave if this is your home?
it was, but how do you speak of it
rather why do you ask me, when it is you who should have the answer
rather, you who could, but do not, will not, should not, ought not
it is better to lie than to tell the truth
especially when morality is at stake
rather nobility
it's funny you welcome me back, though
i love you
did they love me? 
but you say you do.
it's very strange being a fish out of water
when this dry valley was once swimmable
and men and maids lived separately
but the people lived together
bloodstains but not enough to make anyone cry
at least not bad enough to be deemed worse
than the predicament of the forefathers
elimination implies a lack of existence
and oh, how i see clearly
how you do not see
but if you will, elimination will be stomped like a worn path
and we will walk back to the house my big big papa chopped wood outside of while his wife stirred a cauldron of lentils and whatnot
which invokes trepidation
considering the soups propensity to dance with betrayal
be sold for birthrights
and eliminate brothers from the promise
i want to cry at home
as a matter of sheer interest
how dare you continue to deny me this right?
with a past of my own, I've been loved.
let's be brothers. i forgive!