Grieve at Will
Do not cry when i am gone.
grieve at will
but do not cry
do not despair
miss me you may
but i will still be there
do not worry
do not be concerned
you won’t notice it
but i will return
in the last inklings of dusk
in the setting of the sun
in the cawing of the crow
when the last rites are said and done-
i will be there
in the whispering of the wind as it runs through trees
in the crunching of the leaves beneath your feet
in the most mundane of things, i will be,
even after my heart ceases to beat.
so, do not cry
do not mourn
do not miss me
i shall be reborn
i may not return in the way you wish
i cannot touch, i cannot speak
i cannot love, i cannot be
but i will live in the bubbling of every creek
in every shadow
in every stream
in every day that stretches by
in every hope, in every dream
i am there,
do not cry.
California Girl
Who am I?
What am I?
The classic Norwegian stubbornness,
The dry German humour and poker face,
That’s from dad
And thats from mom;
But who am I?
Mom says I’m German,
strong and reliable
I agree–
She tells me we’re Osage
Like Nana
I don’t concur; it’s been
Too many generations
Of whitewashed California girls
Clinging to straws of a unique past.
Dad says i’m a “Viking Warrior Princess”
His stupid joke, not mine.
We’re descendants of a rough, tough
Norwegian line, but–
I’m not rough
Nor built for hardship
Like porcelain,
I crack under pressure.
People who don’t know me
They say I’m “That Swiss Girl”
But I’m not.
That’s not me.
My foreign friends say,
“You’re
American,”
Like it’s a slur.
But they don’t know
Know what it’s like
To live in a mixed bag
Of cultures and knowledge
So tightly clung to, yet rapidly forgotten.
I feel lost.
I have no culture–
No traditions
No way to answer
The question of
What Am I?
And without that
How do I answer
The question of
Who Am I?
