The land bridge isn't there anymore.
My ancient migration ended.
And now I don't know what to do with myself.
My heart longs to go north
And across
And down
To the forest of northeast china,
And out to the place where the timbers cross,
And the open Manchurian plane.
There are foods there that feed my soul
That don't grow in this country,
And maybe my body is starved for them as well.
And so, should I pray for calamity,
For famine or drought or age of ice
To come again,
And open the route
For me?

-jenn