Come in, friend,
to this humble camp;
I will serve you
the national drink
of my people in honor
of you, my guest.
If you have one of your own
and you have one with you
you may drink up if you
have any with you —
should you share some
with me, I would be
most grateful; if you do not,
then drink freely of mine.

Sit down, be comfortable!
These lovely blankets 
I’ve piled upon the floor
in this corner make a fine cushion.
I received them in trade
for something — oh, I can’t recall
now what I gave up in exchange
for these. So much I’ve traded
for comfort — but you, 
you sit. We can talk more
of such things in due time.

Tell me something
about yourself — your language,
your children. Tell me something
about your lands — your customs,
your children. The gold you are wearing,
your customs, your curious thoughts
of God, your gold.

I will tell you of mine
after we eat.

You’ve brought food, I see.
This is good of you; I must confess
we are hungry here, but do not fear for us.
That is not your concern — we 
have always been hungry. Perhaps
we could have some of yours, just until
we learn more of what is here 
and what can come from this land — 
what grows well, where the water
flows freely, what game is
plentiful, how much things 
cost. How much gold
you need to survive, how much 
you have. How much
do you have? 

I see you’ve suddenly
grown silent, wary,
staring into darkness.

Please don’t mind that shadow
behind me, moving
in ways you say you’ve not seen.
That is always there. We sprout them
from our backs at birth. 

You say you don’t have one?
You’ve never seen such a thing?  

Oh, we all have them.
I’m sure you have your own.
I can help you find yours.

In fact, I insist.