Immigrant

                                Hans Jorg Stahlschmidt

My greatest fear is to return
home empty-handed,
to have used my body only
for collecting food and dust.

They would ask me:
what did you bring?
And I would have to admit
that I forgot what I came for,
my nets would be there
on the shore torn and useless.

I had the chance to see the silver
blade of a reed trembling in the early
morning mist, feel the warmth of
a woman’s breast in my hands and
sing my child asleep and
still I have this fear.

I was always moved by Joseph
finding his way home and now I wonder
if I went too far and for too long.
Then I wanted to be a stranger
but now I catch myself looking into yards
for childhood trees giving familiar shade,
into windows which might recognize me,
looking for that unchanging scent
of a land that calls all nocturnal
beings home, and I hear my body
whispering: seek shelter.

© 1999 by Hans Jorg Stahlschmidt