tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68756952809016059262011-04-21T15:16:37.796-07:00Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13741024629320712922noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875695280901605926.post-44701711279079205002007-07-21T12:49:00.000-07:002007-08-13T07:41:23.955-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Nw_5TC2K-N0/RreUgTTDgJI/AAAAAAAAACk/S2pj7MX_6I0/s1600-h/DSCN0107.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095704786049925266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Nw_5TC2K-N0/RreUgTTDgJI/AAAAAAAAACk/S2pj7MX_6I0/s320/DSCN0107.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Can I change a culture? Can I change a past?<br /><br />She stands five feet strong. Birth’s bulge protrudes from her teenage frame.<br />A tongue forming Russian and curling Turkish salivates for English.<br />Her eyes osculate towards the Southern light while dilating as she invites me into the hazel.<br /><br />The brown, shaded by darkness, opens her skin to the stateless persecution.<br />Searching for her motherland she culminates across the tidal surge, landing in a foreign drawl of permanency.<br /><br />She inhales the breathe of hope into the lungs of the forming, but exhales the role of the expected.<br />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.<br /><br />Can I help her break the serving silence? Or is she here to break mine?<br /><br />Maybe she is changing my culture. Maybe she is changing my tomorrow.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6875695280901605926-4470171127907920500?l=marissamullerrefugees.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13741024629320712922noreply@blogger.com0