The first time i heard your call,

i was sitting on the edge of the bed

of my living/dying father.

“Who is that I asked?”

“An immigrant.”

Oh darling Starling, i thought you were native to Boston, like we were.

“you too are an immigrant,” came the reply.

This mourning morning, I heard You again,

far far from Beantown.

The earth is round.

We are all natives now.

Let us learn each other’s calls