Stories of a foreigner- Where the sun is never the same

The first time I stepped foot off the plane,
I look around me and nothing was the same.
Different sun, Different clouds
Different language, different sound.
-
The air was thin with forgotten names,
Our stories folded, counted costs.
In this new land, the sky was strange-
Too empty, Too dull, too quick to change.
-
In this new land I spoke
In tongues that stumbled,
In tongues that cracked
While others stared,
and others laughed.
My name too long- my food too foreign
I learned to shrink to their custom.
-
Yet in the dark, my father told
How stars we knew shone just as bold
Back home, above the pine trees,
Where songs rose warm on coastal breeze.
Each year, I grew in two places at once,
A child of here, and of what was once.
And yet, years and years have passed.
My name shortened,
A buried past.
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Home became a moving place,
A blend of memory, voice, and face.
Now I speak with layers deep,
Of lands I left and dreams I keep.
Above me, clouds still play their game
And I know why the sky’s never the same.

Amelia Pawelczyk.