I do not know the name of this country,
Nor the country of my body.
I do not know my ancestors-
I will not know my children.
The broken bread of my desire
Has been eaten by everyone, and
I have not a crumb.
I have the humiliations of Zenobia,
The shattered bones of my palm,
The knowledge that
Life is Art, not perfection,
And I have done my part.
Also, see my community sisterofthewood and my journal sabneraznik for more work, in various fields of art: writing, drawing, icons, etc.