Poem by Jacqueline Schaalje
Wasting days until Dad, accusing me of putting down roots, chased me away.
Wasting days until Dad, accusing me of putting down roots, chased me away.
With just the right amount of useless junk, loneliness is bearable.
I’ll put her hair in pigtails, fishtails, French braids, waterfall braids, Dutch braids—whatever she wants.
It makes no sense to close yourself off from others now. I receive a joke, laugh my head off, pass it on. If it's not in a language that the other person knows, I translate it.
The Kumbh Mela never comes to Pittsburgh: no one mistakes the Allegheny for the Ganges.