blood beats red, thumps in
elation, dread. how, as an
immigrant, my ears rang
with this land sang diaspora 
on arrival. that time, in
the cemetery near my
house, as a kid, we heard
a tattoo of paws drumming
floor as though knocking
from the dead. “kangaroos,”
my first aussie mate said, “it’s
how the warn that us folk are
here”. & now, years later, i
marvel at the shape resilience
takes, how blood beats red in
all of us, irrespective of points
of departure, because we all
call here home, listen to the
tone drumming up through our
bones, & still kangaroo paws will
song, but now they call us toward