there’s a river
curved like a wrist
in rural Iowa,
we follow.
everybody notices
a country
thrusting inside us.
—you wear an orange
blouse your hair—a fur
coat laid carefully
on your head.
people slow down
when we pass
we are so in love.
a man in a
wooden chair,
dancing back and
forth hums of the
wind in the
rhythm.
it is good
hearing God’s voice
in America’s Midwest
wind.
what is love between two
Liberians without
knowing
families’ history—
when your mother
finds my people in
me. Damning
you a Judas.
draped in the grief
of our country’s history,
we now eat alone,
sleep in separate
beds.
Jeremy Teddy Karn was born in Monrovia, Liberia. He received his MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. He writes and teaches creative writing for a living. More of his writing and publications can be found on his website: jeremyteddykarn.com