Childhood

Searching through shredding memories,
In the attic of my mind,
I can vaguely see into troubled eyes;
The child I used to be.

Then
I am her...
Tousled hair is in my eyes.
My bare feet fly over hot ground
While baggy clothing flips in the heavy air.

Minority child-
Pale among the rich colors of the tropics.
Lonely child-
With a tongue of American lead.
Funny child-
A thousand eyes chase me home.
Hidden child-
Locked beneath her skin.

Who can comfort the child with no home?
What a sorry child.
Who knows the rituals of airplanes
Better than those of her culture?

So scared of speaking
She gave up the privilege
Of owning a voice.
So scared of being seen
Yet terrified of being forgotten.

Naivety is lost
In the torn battlefield
Of a child’s conflicted mind.
Scarred wisdom
No one else cares to have
Is forced upon the young traveler.