Always remember that you have a history
And that it is older than you are
They built a Zen monastery
On the old Stowe farm
Harriet’s family
You plucked the ripe fruit of her mind
Never considering the tree
Or the orchard
When the towers burned
You watched transfixed
On your grandmother’s old TV
You didn’t what it meant
Or that the people who would
Become your family
Were all there, all watching
Under the same grief stricken sun
I wish someone had told me then
That you can’t not belong
Although you can die trying