Homing Instinct

Is it faith

In the stories

Passed through generations,

One freckled butterfly

To the next

That carries them brave

Over seething seas?

Is it hope

In the fragrant fields or

The promise of nectar

Sweet for their children

That steers their purposeful wanderings?

 

Is it devotion

That tethers the bee to her hive,

That enables her to carry

Four miles of heathered hills,

lilac and clover

inside her brain the size

of a grass seed?

 

How do Jews always know where Jerusalem is?

How do Muslims know which way to turn

To face Mecca?

Most of the time, I don’t even know where I am or

Where I’m going

Let alone the direction of

My hidden home.

                              —Michelle Winter