We are wanderers
Others assume we fit, have a place have a space. The color of our skin says we belong here makes us look like this country is ours.
But we have no tether in ancestry or land.
We are wanderers
Kin in many places making new kin, missing old, the constant cycle of birth and death of relationships.
We are wanderers always with a suitcase wishing to stay, yearning to go, hoping others can come with us even if only in lessons learned.
We are wanderers
Travelers visiting many places well versed in hellos and goodbyes.
We are wanderers
We know we will leave. Set shallow roots preparing for the time when our tree must grow elsewhere.
We are wanderers
Touched by many cultures, hardly knowing our own.
Wishing for home but knowing that home, for us, is many places.
We are wanderers
With feet that itch to walk, to move, to go
We are wanderers
Experiencing beauty and newness, being reborn and rediscovered
We are wanderers
Grieving and growing with every new place and step.
We are wanderers
