Maybe it lies,
Deep within the buried
bones of a rich culture,
tradition, beliefs of a family;

that unfortunately, I'm unlikely to cross
paths, let alone, ever meet. An entire
colorful culture, full of rich tradition,
Is my heritage, where I feel roots...

which I would have little, to no,
first hand access nor knowledge of, a past
buried; If, it had it not been for her.

Taught me how to find, to pick
the right size grape leaves to
stuff, full of ground beef and rice.

Introduced the generation of
my siblings, cousins, and myself,
to a unique rice — enriched
with a simple, exotic flavor;
created in one simple act —
adding pine nuts and beef.

She saw the good, my light,
much as I still choose the belief that
she also recognized my darkness,

which I a was taught from a young age,
to have kept hidden, completely, under the
guise of my opaque eyes. 15 years ago,
even before I'd recognized it within myself.

Maybe it is truly, what is left,
when the fires die; as ashes
fall slowly, unsuspended in gravity,

as frenzied embers just might be
all that remains, as a smog of angst,
a haze of fury, begins to extinguish..

the smolder, hangs heavily,
when a country, when family,
when a country's families, turn
against one another, further divides
indivisible boundaries,

clearly a violation and defiance
against one (and all) "foreign," cultures,
as basic human rights of a (any) people,
are repeatedly violated.

Where sands of our lands, of time,
have long since, been buried beneath
the trillions of Mother Earth's, grains
of sand left hidden unto myself,

beneath the winds of hatred. Yet,
as the smoke clears, fear and hatred,
stoked by thousands of years of war,
the genocide of so many peoples,
...