Origin Story by Kaya Lattimore

I am from southern islands.
I am from migration, from tides low enough
to walk on sand bars across countries.
I am from the curved horizon, from the sudden
descent of dusk, hazy as smoke.
From hands rough as palm tree bark,
from the young green coconuts, fresh as seawater.
I am from my mother’s crowded mouth, her
crooked teeth and many accents; from my father’s folklore
and five languages. I am from a dusty town, from handfuls
of kin, their history and blood.
I am from rice paddies and floods.

I am from brown-skin summers.
From native tongue and too-good English;
I am from bamboo borders, the hallowed crossing.
From ancient rivers with Antarctic-ocean veins, from
a mountain-walled city and my many names.
I am from the culture shock, a mouth too crowded
with language to speak.
From blue passport and airplanes,
from the “where are you from?”
I am from the waiting.
I am from unlearning every word for home.
I am from my oldest memory, this chameleon skin.
I am from the roots where every story begins.

From: https://belongingmag.com/2018/07/22/origin-story/

Date: 2018

By: Kaya Lattimore (19??- )

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: