Ard

Teta rinsed rice until the water ran clear.

Jiddo grew apple trees in the farm.

they said ard,

and I learned it meant more

than dirt under shoes.

I walked through cedar trees in Lebanon.

I know how mint smells

when rain hits hot concrete.

Yet here, the gum trees shimmer in heat-haze,

their leaves whispering secrets

to flies that circle like questions.

Light slips through branches

like it’s been told not to stay.

First Nations people say

the land knows who listens.

So I take off my shoes,

press both feet to the ground,

and close my eyes

until it answers.