the day of her arrival is a fossil.
exposed, it erodes
it crumbles apart
grain by grain

this grain is the metal mouth of the aircraft
the attendant is on autopilot and leads her in, blank and smiling

this grain is the plane
scrying over a landscape of night and day

this grain is the tarmac-memory on which she stands
she watches the wind harden in the windsock-mouth

this grain is her mother; ‘this is your new home,’ she cries out,
her cries and her smiles are mixed in her mouth; fears for her child

ten grains equal ten years
left behind.
the grains fall,

become one with the dust.

— from Mortal