Where am I from?
As if I am supposed to know.
I try and divine
what they want or mean
I hesitate and gauge the situation, patient
for misunderstandings to abound.
Where do I live? Where I do not yet know.
Not far from my birthplace, but it’s far from fair to place me there.
And where I lived longest I am a stranger
and it looks, lately, less like home.
Do you mean my parents?
They are migrants too.
Camping here and moving there
as the economic winds blow
so our family’s sails billow.
And I don’t expect
I know where’s next.
What about my blood?
I am as English as they come
(By which I mean still part refugee)
But you don’t mean that because I am white enough.
And no, my voice won’t help you either.
I come from my experiences as much as my kin
My birth tells you no more than my colour of skin
And this mythical hometown-true North within
is a figment of your imagination.