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Writer's pictureiona.grace

The No Culture Kid

Updated: Aug 10, 2020

In some places, a cat has nine lives

I say we have a few more

A cat jumps back in line swinging

And we crawl back, more dead than before

You’ll look at me and say

“But you’re young and bright

Nothing can get you down”

And I’ll look away.

Fight or flight. Fight. Fly. Now.

Let me show you how I became this way

A half shell person wandering the streets

A sleep-walker, stumbling between the painted lines

A ‘well rounded’ multi lingual ready to retreat

Let me show you, life by life,

How I had happy homes to spare

And lost them all. Each and every one

How I wasted my time trying not to care

The first one, quiet and quaint

A holed up, stone faced flat

Right in a moldy, Scottish lane

Full of tea time, Jaffa, and a Winnie the Pooh mat

A home they know better

It wasn’t mine for long, mine for real

Four years really doesn’t mean much

So when we left, did I cry at all?

The next, much sunnier than the last

A tiled square, in a foreign city

A land of beaches, bread, seafood and new friends.

I remember being, more than ever, a family.

But we left there too, after just one year

What a life to lose, caterpillar leaves and stolen gifts and water park tears.

We packed up again and boarded our plane

Shorter and shorter my love grew

We landed, my third home in my fifth year

Greeted with dusty air and sticky clouds

A home of cinderblocks and barbed wire

A home of war, gunshots, and swarming crowds

It was a home of strangled wholeness for years

Then we began to leave one by one

Until it was just me, staring through screened windows

Wondering when the loneliness had begun

Was it when we left our first home

When the language changed for us all

Was it when they started to leave me behind

Choosing school in The valley over prolonging feigned childhood

Or was it when I started jet setting alone

Perched by the wing, window seat, please

No, nothing to eat for fear of being too much there.

Is that when the gaps opened, the hollows in my previous peace?

You know it too, my acronym-ed friends.

The labels, the questions, the praises and approbation, the countless friends

(around the world)

and the crushing silence right next to you.

Right next to you.

Desperate for shelter we wander

Gasping for belonging we claw at one another

They look at me through a lens that’s been

Evangelically tinted and praise me for graces

I’ve never committed

While I think “Wouldn’t I give all the courage in the world

For a roof that never moved and a home that never shifted?”

Maybe. Maybe. But even as I stand, swaying on my moving ground;

I know.

I know.

This is not the end.

We spent our lives jet lagged, unpacking suitcases before emotions.

Truth spread, story told, good news shared, of a home far beyond this opalescent life.

Heart beat to inhale till it all stands still.

This is nothing but one more illusory home.

He will greet us There. At last.

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