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.