nightwrite

my culture melts
into yours, and I see
through the world as if it is a window, holding mist
against panes of glass. colors braid
themselves with the smell of
spices and a ripple on a pond;
the saffron falls asleep
on my tongue
and I know
it's time to count
the toes of the women dancing
circles around me,
to spread yards of silk on the dirt
and marvel at how soft the Earth can become, sit
by the fire and speak
of how all people
were woven from the same thread,
how we were a quilt
once but not we are just patches
mismatched on a vast bedspread.
Sometimes
I string myself back onto you, but
sometimes
we tear away from each other, a star
breaking into light, a daisy
ripping its petals open under the
angry sun.
Leaves fall from my eyes,
moss from my hair,
and I try
to remember where it all
began, forgetting
that I was so new
I didn't know how to see or hear, just to
feel.