Where I Am From

I am from desert sand and tumble weeds, hot air and cold nights.

I am from scrubbing floors, babies, and cousins that I don't even know.

I am from late nights of coffee drinking and fortune telling,

listening to the call of prayer in the early morning.

I am from open spaces and thick trees,

miles and miles to civilization.

I am from fried green tomatoes and corn bread, eaten on the front porch swing,

crickets chirping and fresh cut grass.

I am from heavy coated accents, a division of black, white, and brown.

I'm from a new religion and an old religion; both intertwined with drives of guilt and shame.

The foundations control me and  push me away.

Motherhood is my only divine role and men have the final say.

I push the boundaries in search of freedom, only to have the noose tightened.

I am a misfit and a rebel with fear of abandonment.

I am from my mother and my father.

I am from two cultures that fit together, 

two cultures that collide.