Archive | 2:50 pm

Immigrant, I

3 Aug

I am an immigrant. I’ve lost my way of life so many times over, there is no one pattern for me anymore. With no fixed path, or state of being, I swim in cultures as fluid as quicksilver, flow downstream with grace and ease. I switch, transform and blend into the bushes. The color of varied greens seeps into my skin, the odd greyness of new skies reflects in my wide open irises, and I soak, I suck, I imbibe. Not for me are known ways of being, familiar stones of aged houses, the reflection of neighbors down the street, ones who saw me as a mere bump in a young, taut belly. I spin in tongues, accents tumble off my shoulders. Seascapes and strange fish, I look at anew. Fresh pictures I put up of untrammeled spaces, as intimate as the montage I’ve left far behind.

I am an immigrant. I’ve known (far too) many homes. Countries, borders, hedges, airline terminals, they all nod in tandem to greet me. Acceptance, rejection, bewilderment and belonging melt into the dense, sticky core of energy that is my life. And you, settled soul who has never be-housed new shores, can only wonder at these alternative ways of grab-a-day living, where roots are replaced by peregrinating feet. There are losses, yes, and gains a-plenty. But both slip through my fingers even as I speak and my next new patch of earth awaits me.

I am an immigrant. Respectfully anointed. I may come home to old crannies, but I’ll never be wholly back. And my eyes, they’ll always be gazing into the distance. And I bear my cross willingly.