Loureine Aber

From “City Lanes”

O MY country,

I am crying to you piteously as a hungry bird,

I am crying to you for your beautiful ports

And harbors,

For the slow beauty of your Statue and its silent hope.

O my country, I would slink into the crevices of your egoism,

And squat on the doormat of your excellences.

But what shall I do when mad spring comes,

And blossoms come,

And wild sap comes—

But my lover comes not?

O my country, I might be a thin thread in your flag,

Or the little wind blowing your ships to sea;

But what shall I do when the spring comes in,

And flowers shoot up in me?