Sitting on the edge world one

Looking East to the land of my birth
The distance of an ocean’s blues

They call for my return

The voices form a strange new tongue

Or is it my brain that skews the meaning

Searching for a way to stall

My feet are planted in these sands

Beneath this Sun, I found my calling

Sanctuary to me applied

Weary of Tradition’s harbor

I walk the Sands in Woman’s strides

Storm the shores and search the island

Here you’ll find no pigeoned holes

My new home lists me on the ledger 

Her whispers hide me from your course.
By Marta C. Youngblood