Mother

Born in the east raised by the west

Torn in between cultural dressings

Both may feel right, but neither feels whole

Mother I’m torn between two different homes

Land filled with pears, and apricot hues

The lands filled with mangoes and papayas blooming

Each land of woman filled with rich story

Mother I’m stuck between two different mornings

And how dissonant are each of these bridges

And how resonant are each of these feelings though

If neither feels right and neither feels wrong

Mother my children will speak in different tongues

Mother I’m shy I can’t speak your tongue

Mother don’t cry I’ve been trying again

Trying to be bold as you were before me

I’m leaving the west I’m going alone