Current Issue: Cosmopolitanism
2009-2010
Diaspora
Shelly Holder
They always say to me, can you
smell the magnolias, the jasmine
honeysuckle and hydrangea
the roses, French lavender, budding
azaleas or the lilacs. But flowers
represent the exotic, tropical
longed after intangibles I've read about
to escape my hometown diaspora.
I have no natural association, no
connection, no memory of these
frail foreign forms of alien wildlife.
Desert living often prevents
that sort of thing - living. Breathing.
In my hometown, not even cacti grow.
I can tell you instead
how the desert smells after it rains
that single day of the year. Two
if we're lucky. But no more. Just
a brief, beautiful, intoxicating day.
I can warn you not to breathe deep
of the dust devils and tumbleweeds
as they invade your nostrils, they
bring along more than just smell
and sense but also sand and dust. And
yes. In the desert, there is a difference.
I can tell you of smog and haze, of frenzy
and heat. I can tell you of
consumer culture, culture consuming you.
I can tell you of aridity -
environmental, cultural, social.
Believe me, nothing grows in the desert.
So don't expect me to tell
you of pretty, green, delicate things.
Don't expect those from me.