One thought on “Exiled: A Matter of Rice, Sailing, a Harvest & Feet

  1. I wrote this poem playing the creative game with Leyla. She gave me the words: rice, sailing, harvest, and feet. While I was writing I was thinking about how cooking allows our brains to linger upon thoughts adjacent to the tasks but buried. The vapors from a pot rise, and suddenly we are in another place. We are given gifts of epiphany and clarity of thought. I added Psalm 124 at the end of this poem because somehow words from it kept repeating in the meter as I was wrote.

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