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Hand over heart, head lifted to Old Glory. A flicker, a single thought, crosses my mind. I remember, I remember when ash rained down like new fallen snow,
  My own country, but I don’t own my land. I used to put my hand through the orange sand. My brother and I would count pejig, nij.
The billows dashed against the sky,
  And now here I am. Struggling to connect to a place. A place my parents called home, In this foreign land. I watch a man bathe himself on the sidewalk,
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