The men plow, and know everything about “late” and “early”;
the women weave, and separate the “warp” from the “weft.”
We roast yams over crackling pine-cone fires,
eat fresh green vegetables, spiced with ocean salt.
A neighbor borrows a painting to cover a hole in his wall:
I enter his house and for a moment I think I'm back home!
In this village, we feel as if we were all one family;
beneath the cliffs our homes are built,
clustered like stars in the night sky.