Global Citizenry

When I was twenty, I wrote this poem for my parents.

Child of The World

I was born of the Toya shell

washed upon the shores of Papua New Guinea

I was born of the Kauri tree

sharing the rainforest

with the ghosts of Māori warriors

I was born of the silk and spices

of a passing Spanish merchant

I was born of a Scottish soldier’s vice

for fuzzy-haired native women

I was born of French philandering

in far off foreign places

I was born of British colonization

for gold, gospel and glory

I was born of this world

I am a child of Mother Earth

The blood of many nations

flows through my veins

I am living evidence that

when the fighting stops

we are all the same

As I stand here with my daughter and husband on this American soil that exists openly as two distinct Americas, I feel the uneasiness felt by most who watch the unfolding of an uncertain and unstable world. Yet, I don’t really want to go home. I learnt a very long time ago that home is exactly wherever my husband, and I are together anyway. Joyfully, over the years, that home has expanded to include our daughter and our furry friendships. 

Every day that passes and a new lick of paint goes on a wall, a new plant goes into the ground or a desert sunset reveals yet another shade of pink or orange or baby blue that I’d never noticed before, home gets a little bit more brick and mortar than conceptual. I’ve always felt very privileged to live in America. It has provided much opportunity and encouragement to make our own way. I feel luckier still to reside in California, a place that has provided so much community of many flavors and colors. Communities build societies, not the other way around.

I often look at the two, 1200 year plus old Joshua Trees that preside over our house here in the desert, and they remind me of the absolute ridiculousness of humanity. The very thought that those two trees belong to us because we have a piece of paper that says that we “own” this little piece of Mother Earth’s skin, marked out on some made up documents, is simply absurd. These ancient rocks that surround us have been here long before us and will be here long after our species is gone. So much is wrong right now. So much is scary. Somehow though, the thought of those Joshua Trees and the rocks calm me. They’ve seen it all and they’re still here.

Those wagons that headed West were filled with wild, pioneering, brave spirits, the immigrants who’ve landed on these shores did so with suitcases full of hopes and dreams. Husband and I are all of those people.

Even for this piece of land we’ve set up permanent camp on though, I’m feeling the call to the world – a world greater than the little one we’ve built here. It’s time to show our daughter she belongs to a much bigger story. It’s time to show her what global citizenry looks like, firsthand. 

I was born of this world

I am a child of Mother Earth

The blood of many nations

flows through my veins

I am living evidence that

when the fighting stops

we are all the same