by Deja Earley
If your Texan grandma begged the fountain ducks to hold still or if your German nephew scattered pigeons on a May afternoon if your Pakistani boyfriend posed like Admiral Nelson or if the American teenagers reclining on the lion's back draping their arms around his neck sitting on his paws picking his nose giving him bunny ears and a kiss belong to you look for me to the left one inch tall eating my yogurt wearing a red sweater. I'll take my camera home on Tuesday. But my image will scatter the globe— going home in rolling suitcases, showing up in glossy prints, accidentally re-wound when your French cousin hit the wrong button tossed and trapped forever when delinquents snatched your purse.
Deja Earley writes poetry mainly from memories and travel experiences, using her imagination to make the familiar foreign and the foreign familia1; She will graduate this August with a Master's in English and will start her PhD in the fall at University of Southern Mississippi.
