The ex-patriot

April 30, 2008

The ex-patriot - 2007

the revenge of mater oil on canvas 122 x 69 cm 2007 U$3,000

I cannot look about the land without noting his absence;

yet I cannot feel the sense of belonging, of patriotism,

without wishing to leave; there is little left other than

protecting, resenting - that one needs to be on some sort

of crusade, to warrant continuing on. Much has changed,

yet little evident; much has altered, yet all, to the unwitting,

appears the same. Perhaps - a word I need to stop using- all

is simply those parting feelings of moving on whilst leaving

all that resembles home, that sense of comfort like a mother’s

arms (to have never had), or a father’s pride (since buried).

Can you put a finger on just what it is that has gone, assuming

that this lies hidden beneath the scant rewards of materialism,

between the affluence and the politics, between the plans
of assurance and scripted party speech all are led to subscribe to?

Only when the scant generals of opportunism sent soldiers,

that I remember my grandmother crying; yet, I am told today

we owe our success to the images of planes and shells falling,

when M. prayed he would go home, to tell; this, they tell us,
is our saving. Hence I go to the departure lounge
with a conscience clear, the flags forever flying.

I will think of how one fights for survival, each by his own

way of doing. Yet when one dreams of home I will recall

how one did little; How deep it is to feel that one did not take part;

that one lives, now, without real balls. And, as the numbers multiply
and the will struggles to take flight, my own children smile

unknowingly; for their own father knows no boundaries, he feels

no allegiance other than to the sacred, to the divine,
which is little more than imagined, our sense of place flitting
like birds from tree to tree looking for a spot to rest.
For those that feel no urgency are quick to find a seat,

among friends. And yet all falls into place, the jigsaw parts
once missing like icing on a child’s cake leaving stains
on party clothes from photographs shared I shall not keep,
the dirt on the soles of my boots all that I shall take.