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By Tami Karabin

Although I grew from American soil,

my heart too

belongs in that mythical

isle within an isle

where the bean-rows grow.

The astounding course of progress

leaves this soul searching

for a home it cannot know.

A low-rent noisy walk-up is

of neither clay nor wattles made.

To eschew the wasted time

the taking, blind and boastful,

with never an utterance of thanks

to the trees and the honeybees—

I decline.

Yet, I cling to the comforts

of air conditioning, vaccines—

and Amazon Prime

Tami is a graduate of Lynchburg College and works in CVCC’s Writing Center. She enjoys helping students develop as writers. In her free time, she likes to read, write and craft.

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