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of salt
sometimes, there is more salt in my poems
than the ocean. which is to say,
i come from three generations rooted & unbroken.
parents who broke the hemispheres in half
with their immigrant hands
to reclaim the waters the destroyers of their forefathers sailed.
i come from reborn soil atlas inverted diasporic dreams.
i come from the song of the ocean
roaring in my ears. how beautiful.
this language of wind & water.
this, my native tongue.
& the day is a memory we travel through,
learning to call it our own. in whatever language.
whatever tongue our mouths have shaped us for.
& if the ocean can journey itself across centuries
to rise each morning,
then so can we. children of the dusk.
we can chart these foreign waters, this strange & wild earth,
& call this place--every place--our home.
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