Saturday, July 21, 2007


Can I change a culture? Can I change a past?

She stands five feet strong. Birth’s bulge protrudes from her teenage frame.
A tongue forming Russian and curling Turkish salivates for English.
Her eyes osculate towards the Southern light while dilating as she invites me into the hazel.

The brown, shaded by darkness, opens her skin to the stateless persecution.
Searching for her motherland she culminates across the tidal surge, landing in a foreign drawl of permanency.

She inhales the breathe of hope into the lungs of the forming, but exhales the role of the expected.
Alone in a family of marital foreigners she extends beneath the demanding soles, absorbing the press of the needs and satiating the grumbles of desire.

Can I help her break the serving silence? Or is she here to break mine?

Maybe she is changing my culture. Maybe she is changing my tomorrow.