My Name on His Tongue: Poems

home

23 home as a young child when Home was where you lived and where-are-you-from? was more about your parents I thought I belonged to the Whites because that was where my house was I pretended those children with chisels in their powdery hands and spit in their wet pink mouths didn’t mean to hurt me as they questioned my name my face my place of birth my father’s absence later when I stared in the mirror examined my skin peeled it back peeked through at tissue and veins 24 and blood saw who I really was I opted for the Arabs erased all whiteness erased my house let those warm dark arms hold me love me make me theirs build me a new house it worked for a while until I found that Home is inside not out that the view changes depending where I sit which window I look out of mixed blood is like an old trailer that’s always frowned at because no matter where 25 it’s parked it’s always out of place on the other hand you can drag it anywhere if your hitch is strong enough just be careful if there’s a hurricane or tornado yours will be the first to go ...