Prismatic

At times I see myself

as a beige smudge,

a blur between places—

ambiguous enough

to belong everywhere

and nowhere

all at once.

It seems my role is

to hang in the balance.

But then I remember…

I am sun-warmed sand

hugging weary feet

through tiring journeys.

I'm Ceylon tea

spilled on a map,

connecting continents

and mountain ranges

from peak to peak

and beneath ocean depths.

My arteries mimic the rivers

that flow between motherlands

and fatherlands

distantly known.

My skin is a time-tinted scroll,

etched with forgotten origin

stories that can be felt to the touch,

through the spirit,

but never read.

I am the embodiment of

resilience and survival

of unimaginable passages

ancestors took,

seeking better for me

ever before I was an idea,

as my mother used to say.

My blood is red

for Trinidad and Canada.

My hopes are green

for Ireland and India.

My veins are blue

for the French that rolls

clumsily off my tongue.

My heart beats orange

for the same star that

illuminates and enlivens

all the lands marked by footsteps

that came before mine.

My aura is prismatic

for the people I love—

a reflection of my insistence on

being myself.

I am a daughter of the world

And to the earth, I belong.

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