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.