Ina Vandebroek – Home

I like to read a country as a book.

The pages of Belgium make up

a book of longing and belonging.

The train that I took drives by fields

of sugar beets, corn and wheat,

meadows that hold ten different shades

of green, black and white cows

juxtaposed with flaming red poppies.

To come back is to know

that the untamed in me

will always recognize the elderberries

blossoming by the railroad tracks,

the places where wild things grow.

This is the language of childhood,

a book infused with memories

of home-made mayonnaise and fries,

of late afternoons with songs of black birds,

a contest in which every singer is a winner.

These are images and sounds

that make up their own language,

noticed only by those who have left,

but who still resist the idea of leaving.

Ina Vandebroek, 16 June 2015