Tomorrow morning I will wake up

and take the first flight to Estonia

because it was the first country I could think

of that I think I don’t know anything about

Other than that it’s next to Latvia and Lithuania.

I don’t even know what language they speak there.

Maybe they speak German– and I would call

my brother and ask him to crudely translate

menus for me so I could order the same

garden salad  how I like it

with balsamic dressing demoted

to a cup on the side.

I wouldn’t try to read street signs.

I would pretend that I always knew

Estonia. That it was my homeland

that I was returning to after years of finding

myself lost in the life of a girl with blue

hair who loved old baseball movies

and falling in love by accident with everything.

I would first visit my father and tell him

that I was sorry I had missed so many birthdays

while I was lost as an American.

He would tell me that I wasn’t his daughter

and I would insist that I was.

I would cook dinner of instant noodles

with edamame beans if I would find them there.

I would get lost in America again but before I left

I would buy something from a corner

store that didn’t serve a purpose– like a ceramic

turtle dove or a snow globe that rained purple

confetti flower petals instead of snow.

I would buy a box of chocolates

to give to whoever I encountered from my

American life first. I would tell them that I had

seen them and thought of them.

I would buy a red delicious apple to eat on the plane.

I would pretend like I discovered something

in Estonia about myself other than

that I have a father I never bought a birthday card for.

He would remember me by my blue hair.

When I flew home I would pretend like I

was embarking on a journey

into a place that I had never been.

I would visit the farmer’s market up the

street from my house and act like a tourist–

I’d ask if everyone in Kutztown was Amish.

I’d sample the local delicacy of shoe fly pie

and wash it down with glass bottle root beer.