(Editor's Note: April is Autism and
Poetry Awareness Month.)
You arrive one day on a detour
To these rather distant shores
Where you fail to recognize any
Of the names of local stores.
The language (of course) is foreign
Utterly peculiar to your ear
But you soon begin to pick it up with
A new word there and here.
Eventually, it seems normal. You see
The rose, not just the thorn there.
You keep adjusting and then wind up
Feeling like you were born there.
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