Hiraeth

It was not nostalgia I felt
on Sunday; because
I didn’t know you though
I saw you once a week. I saw
what of you they showed
us all, a view of you oblique
and discordant; the season’s
unexpected ingénue.
That was how I knew you.

It was not nostalgia I felt when I
heard the news, because
I never knew you
though I knew your face
and name,
I knew you came
from Vojvodina though
that wasn’t where you found
your fame. I knew about
the $50 in your father’s
wallet; of the year 2000
in New York City with only
what you could fit inside
your tiny pockets. And I
see your face behind my
eyelids as both a blonde
and a brunette which is a strange
thing to do of someone
I have never met. 

It was almost nostalgia I
felt on Sunday; homesickness
 for a place I’d
never visited nor
left behind. I’ll borrow
a word, Hiraeth, as
it’s the closest
definition I can find.