Stockholm Syndrome

if I don’t come back again

leaving just a ghost whisper behind

in scent and in echo 

around our house,

open my bedroom window

and throw your gaze south-east

towards the Seven Sisters above

I remember how as a little girl

sitting out on our farm

you pointed them out to me

and their other celestial siblings

you’ll remember this moment forever

you murmured to me

and yes, I indeed I did

so as you stand there

continents away

I will be looking the same way

at that exact constellation

but I have been taken hostage

by a way of life

by a vast endless expanse of land

how can I tell you when was

the precise moment you lost me

to the desert?

was is that first glimpse

of ragged red cliffs

as we left our cars behind

or was it parched and exhausted

drinking from the spring

breathing thanks to the earth

my limbs aching

the first sunset

stars appearing like a dream

the first sunrise

which scrambled the mountain

just like me

the blackened eyes

the glowing skin

the palms on burning sand

the sweet tea on my tongue

somewhere in the middle

of those moments, I lost my way

back home

    and it seems I’m never

       coming back