I am a Cinderella
not because my mother left no clues
but a day, she started nibbling on my flesh
surpassing her postpartum blues;
because you treat me like the stepsister
as though I am here to snatch your share.
I sweep the floor, rub your chimney
dexterity hiding in hands, degree rotting inside head
because the proof they exist, the proof that I exist
are buried afar amongst the debris.
Yes, I am a refugee not because I seek refuge,
it's because I have been refused.
I move on not to reach the Prince's castle
but to play again on the tree swing near our farm
that my father fixed before they seized him by his arm.
That is the only place my brother's little soul must have traced
swimming across the deep ocean, he must be stressed
now, swaying his feet high, eagerly waiting to rhyme with mine.
That is the only place I can reach out to kiss the sunshine
spare myself awhile from touching this meanest earth
you say is no longer mine.
I shall welcome you in my ruined paradise, dear friend, if ever...
I understand how you must feel as though it will never...
Look at me, here I am moving on just because they say
the earth is round.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem