Odyssey of a Nomadess

  
"And where is home for you?" You said

"Home? 10 miles from here"

"No, I mean where are you from? Your folks from?"


I swear I've been through this dejavu,

my skin tones too vague for a continent.

my headscarf, not a turban, signals a turbid GPS.

you throw random cities into the air

like arrows, aimed to slice my heritage. 

instead, each one just leaves a temporary mark

that heals in time for my next reluctant life trek.

no sense of belonging,

my mouth, empty of words,

what can I say

exactly what does home represent?

where I drew my first breath into this world,

my first image on an ultrasound,

or  where my ancestors first dreamt on the sand hills.

where I learned how to speak,

where I took my first steps or went to kindergarten.

or is it where I learned how to chameleon my way  into a native.

where I saw my first crush,

fantasized about my first kiss,

or experienced heartbreak as a migrant.


I've used the word home for 4 continents,

and each time needed a 'but... 'to apologize for the lengthy stories.

I never belonged there because of the time I spent after, living here.

and I don't belong here, because my expat heartbeat called another mine for a few years. 

can an ex-land be a homeland after your visa expires?

Is there a time limit for memories you make and the bonds that shape your life?

I have visited often but still had to go back on another roundtrip.

I have settled here but am always flying somewhere, I'm restless.

Home.... Is an address that changes every time I look outthe wings of an airplane .

you see, I come from a long line of nomads

we follow the path that beckons us.

we hold the now more dear than an empty building or unlicked stamp sets.

we don't need mail, we go where we're needed,

our loved ones, always within reach, just come and find us.

what does it matter where I'm from?

we all use the same hues of the sun and moon in our verses.

my name is the same in English, somali or arabic.

we all breathe the same and even sleep with the same dreams and nightmares that pair with us

so next time I say my home is Calgary,

this is where my soul's tethered between the snow tipped mountains, nature's breath of artwork into the mosaic of concrete.

while my skin tingles at the whispers of warm chinooks between the melting snowflakes...