Halfway up the mountain I fall (again)
Tumbling backward
Sliding
Skidding
Crashing into trees
(that would be you and me)
Rudeness overtakes me,
I cannot breathe as I try to defend and fend a way out of Us and Them…
Bested by the very anger and pain I seek to soothe in the world –
And am thrown out.
This is not my home.
No longer on the Mountain, I continue to fall —
Spinning and bumping into the places of my childhoods –
What, you only had one?
Echoes of conversations bleed through from voices long ago:
Where are you from?
No really, where are you from?
i live here.
No, where are you from?
i live here.
No, Little:
Girl, Gal, Sweetie – (pick one)
Or No, Silly, (if they are being kind)
(as if silly was kind for anything but clowns),
or Stop That Back-talk, if they were not… being kind.
Where are your people from?
My people?
Mine?
I have people?
But the real message is:
You don’t belong here.
Where are you from?
And without skillful means, i am a sawdust doll with no port of call
And as I tumble and fall –
Lost in it all –
The ‘you don’t belong here’
becomes
GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.
Where are you from?
Gravity takes over.
Where are you from?
Earth. I am from Earth.
That’s so lovely.
This is beautiful. Thanks.