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