MAY 1993 We wait in bed for our father to come home from work We know he's coming when we hear the coins jingle in his pockets as he walks up the stairs Sometimes he whistles us to sleep Sometimes he tells us stories
We like the stories best
There's the story about how he fed his neighbor Muhammad so many beans that he farted powerfully enough to lift off the ground NO WAY
And there are stories about our homeland a place we've never been
