The Bible says that your hometown will turn you to night.
Or is it that where you were born descends your heart?
Or perhaps the translation should be that there are no mothers left
in hometowns, that there is only evacuation? My ancestors
were refugees. I have diaspora in my arteries. There is Syria
and Saami and genocide and tvångssteriliseringar—the word
is like a disease—in my background, on my back, the weight
on my shoulders. I worry about extinction. I have panic attacks
about extinction. I swallow my tongue in the early morning
because of the threat of extinction. We went from the attic
of Finland to the attic of Michigan to a place where unemployment
is the sunset . . . Or is it that no prophet is acceptable anywhere?