She traveled 14 hours to escape generations of pillage and
the destruction of her paradise home.
I see her, crossing the ocean.
It wasn’t a dream she’d ever had.
Her eyes burned, it was the first time she’d smelled recirculated air.
The crowd in all directions gave her anxiety.
Would it always be so crowded in the “free world”?
Her feet ached, these things called heels felt like torture.
Would she ever feel grass beneath her toes again?
Her tight crimson curls, flames against sun-kissed freckles.
She traveled 14 hours to escape generations of pillage and
the destruction of her paradise home.
Her tears have ceased now.
Collecting herself in courage is making her chest tight.
All she knew was on that island.
They told her it would be a better life.
But only she knew, it was their heartbeat,
growing inside her swollen womb,
that gave her the courage to get on the airplane,
to leave her people behind.
My mother, the brave.
It’s her ebony eyes, branded in my mind.
It’s her tears I cry when I’m regaining the nerve to survive.
It’s her strength that molded me.
Like hot lava, I feel her burn within me.
I hear her daily, calling me
to the freedom of the grass.
