michelle umunna

She carries two passports in her heart,

neither one quite home.

In the land where she first drew breath,

they ask where she’s really from.

•

Her tongue stumbles

on the language

her parents spoke in whispers,

while the words that flow like water

mark her as other—

always other.

•

At family gatherings

across the ocean,

aunts pinch her cheeks and sigh,

“You’ve become so foreign, little one.”

•

But she is not

half of anything.

She is not torn

or broken.

She is the bridge

between two shores,

the song

in two tongues spoken.

•

In her veins

run rivers

that have never met on maps.

In her dreams

dance rhythms

from both her mother’s

and father’s laps.

•

She belongs

to morning prayers

and midnight birthday candles,

to spices that burn the tongue,

and stories

only she can carry.

•

Let them call her foreigner—

she knows

a deeper truth.

Home is not

a place on earth,

but the wholeness

of her youth.

•

She is the keeper

of two histories,

the guardian

of two names.

And in her singular existence

burns

a thousand ancestor flames.

•

She belongs

to herself

completely—

to the space

between the known,

where borders blur

to nothing,

and she stands,

beautifully,

lizardsss

OSPAAAL (The Organization of Solidarity of the Peoples of Asia, Africa and Latin America) posters