by sailing, by crossing seas and oceans, do we eventually settle down?

i.

home is where the heart is

then where is my heart then? 

here?

or there?

or somewhere completely irrelevant? 

when people ask me “where are you from?” 

I say “here”

“but where are you really from?” 

where

I do wonder

where am I really from? 

I do not know

where is

home

I am still looking

ii.

a searing sun prods me awake, 

giant mosquitoes nipping at my skin, 

waves gently beating against the ship’s hull, 

the sea holds on to me. 

but I cannot hold on to the sea. 

my callused feet slip on the jagged wood, 

my hands clasping rough rope, burning. 

friction is just a fraction of my infractions. 

I want to belong, but I cannot belong. 

in another life, in another time, 

I knew these waters, 

I found balance in the disposition 

of their movements, 

in my movements, in my migration. 

I rooted myself in the sea and the sea rooted itself in me. 

My heart searches for its voice in the howling of the wind. 

I was here. 

I am elsewhere. 

remind me of diaspora, 

of migration, 

of finding a home 

across seas and oceans.