Where Do I Belong?Sitting on the rock wall
Admiring the waves crashing on the jetty,
Salt crystals scratch my skin like sand paper.
The tourists and their five person family,
All wearing matching sun hats and
Carrying a kite,
Wander underneath my feet to
Dig for clams.
My father dug for clams
When I was five, just to make ends meet halfway.
He never found it fun, glorious, satisfying,
Like these tourists do.
Stopping after the youngest daughter
Cuts her finger
On a shattered shell
She peers in my direction,
And blood trickles into the sand
I thought belonged to me.
She looks amazed that I am not as tan as a native,
Or why I am not brushing my salt laced hair
With the bones of a codfish.
I jump off the rock wall, managing to keep my sandals on
And I push my salt drenched hair from my eyes.