There’s a steady hum in her cadence,

a glimmer lacing the rhythm of the air

as she speaks, she speaks

the tongue of a distant land.

 

But her kneecaps wear the scars

of a native childhood climbing native trees;

her past flush with the stories

of a girl who bled native blood.

 

There’s a change in her gait:

she now walks like a daughter.

As she sings, she sings

the songs of a strange homeland.

 

She hungers and thirsts for odd things,

and invites us all to taste them too.

She laughs with crinkled eyes at thieves

whose threats can’t take her lot.

 

She looks much the same,

it’s her air that’s the thing:

much brighter, and surer – more her than before.

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