Feeling Dotard Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Feeling Dotard

Talk of words can be hard
As are the ways of life
Cultural, mythical.

Wonder if can ever
Explain how we made
Many soups and dishes
From our seeds, crops
Grown in our own farm!

Yes, is too difficult
To go back in arms of
My so-called aunts, uncles
In place of my birth
And tell them what I faced…

God knows love Prairies
As well as the Andes
And deserts and oceans
That have been, visited.

To each I was member
But they are strangers
And know not each other
By look or by knowledge.

To me though they are, all
Siblings and cousins
Of firsthand and distance.

Yet, I laugh when think of
My mother's "Ash-e-Arzan, "
Which was soup of Millet;
(Broomcorn, you name it.)

To make, was, time taking;
Also, art, fantastic
With lies and mystically;
But for us, the young kids
Both tasty and warming;
Now-a-day, out of reach.