A Guest In Someone’s Home

An ambassador.

A mission.

A passing carnival.

An indecision.

_

When your born in the in between,

betwixt visible and unseen,

you’re always a guest in someone’s home.

_

At first you’re quite the trend,

a veritable sensation.

_

The way you roll your Rs,

in that authentic way.

The way you drink Rakija,

“You’re one of us for sure!”

_

How your hand glides

elegantly in that

oh-so perfect circle.

Hips sway

just the way

the local girls do.

_

Your manners are unparalleled,

your mannerisms sublime.

For just a moment,

a tiny second,

you think

you’ll stay

for all time.

_

But stay for just a while longer,

another day and you’ll know,

that one born to all and none,

is forever a guest in someone’s home.

_

Soon the luster fades,

and the spots begin to show.

For a leopard amongst the zebras

is not a welcome thing.

_

The Rs that were just right

now betray a foreign tongue.

Those eyes shaped so perfectly

reveal windows to another history.

A smile, once welcoming,

is now the tell-tale grin of the enemy.

_

Swaying hips

display tilts and rolls of other influences.

Manners falter

when traditions beckon and

flips of a wrist display

fingers gleaned from other

borders.

_

Hair cascading to hips

from a land of long ago,

point to a skirt

much too short

to be accepted here.

_

The arch of a nose

signifying belonging,

is sold down the river

by lips, blood red, dripping

with Western zeitgeist.

_

Stay a little longer

and you’ll see…

_

A rabbit cannot nestle

in a snake’s hole.

A poodle cannot nap

on a parrot’s perch.

A bear does not hibernate

in the lair of a mole.

And a stallion cannot eat the seeds

of a chickadee’s birch.

_

So embrace those glittering moments

of acceptance and celebration.

Drink the aroma of friendship and love.

Absorb the warmth of a hearth

not your own.

_

For a child born

in the in between,

is forever a guest

in someone’s home.

PK-789-27

_

By

The Liberated Polyglot

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