Grow back to the scent of osmanthus & champaca,
hillsides awash in the wild mustard's yellow,

peaches the size of my child-heart
& cucumbers colored in early morning light.

Grow back to the mango, the loquat,
hedges of ginger & ti, the reptilian gleam

of avocado-studded trees. Guava berries
on a knoll we called Guava Mountain,

& Job's tears strung in bracelets
from a roadside verge, our Green Grassland.

Grow back to every patch of earth
that bursts in verdure,

every highway underpass, balcony, or open lot
that becomes a wayside flourish.

When they say go back to —
I will tell them

I come from a many-seeded land, land
of the careful eye & tender palm.