you can never replace it.
And no matter how much you try to fit in the suitcase,
You will leave behind.
And we will never be as “in touch” as we promise
because you can't be in touch when you
Colombia, and her stomach-churning
mountain roads and dusty beaches
her regional pride in the arepa
and nation of football critics
her heat of violence
and chill of displacement
will begin to fade.
Even if you come back,
even if you stay
it must be born again.
It will never be as fond as you remember.
But yet, despite all this
we know in our bones
that add ring after ring of years
that we live no lines.
Only the swoops and blind curves of circles.
It all comes back around.
Somehow, we will fit in the cracks in the suitcase
and you will take us flying.
helpless and hopeful
pieces of the many days
you have lived
they too are going with.