Emigrant
By Lisa López Smith
Those who never fully
belong, either
here nor there—home
and life always has a before/after; blessed
are the remnants, the outsiders,
the un-belongers—they can see
the real cost of things. Blessed
are those who don’t belong no
matter how well they understand the slang
or speak the culture
discomfort will save them. Blessed
are the sweepers and cooks and swaddlers—
the world owes them everything. Blessed
those who do not seek more comfort
for they will be the most alive. Blessed
are those who do not aim to graph
personal finances up and to the right. Blessed
are the iridescent, the clumsy, the tender. Blessed
those building longer tables and wider circles. Blessed
those who experiment fearlessly
with their art. Blessed
are the travellers and stay-at-homers who ascertain
how we are all just on a short little journey
on this rock and soon will be gone. Blessed
are those who open their eyes to the hundred ways
to kneel and kiss the ground. Blessed
are those who list into Mystery rather than certitude. Blessed
are those who laugh with children and streams and stars. Blessed
are those who walk slowly, those who seed and harvest
the food; the ones who plant the olive groves and dogwoods
and sequoias. Blessed are those who wander, plumping for curiosity
over bitterness; those who live like there is no line between us
and them. Blessed are those who love
with their hands and feet. Blessed
are those who deduce how safety is illusionary. Blessed
are those who shamble along with grief,
knowing that everything we love, we will lose. Blessed
are those who seek unknowing.
Lisa Lopez Smith is a mother and farmer based in Mexico. Her poems and essays have appeared in over sixty literary journals and have been nominated for the Pushcart, Best New Poets, and Best of the Net. She has a chapbook published by Grayson Books and a forthcoming collection from Nightwood Editions.
