Americana

From the moment I breathe life into lyric
Alguien me pregunta de donde soy,

Even if my accent is perfect,
My grammer, accidentally flawless for a moment,

There is way that my mouth moves awkward,
Or my hands stop gesturing,
Or my ideas feel strange,

Such that,
Everyone knows,
From the moment I breathe life into lyric,
That I am not home,
I do not belong,

Soy extranjera.

Extranjera has always been my favorite word in this language.
Delicate and swift, it's roots are in the form of extra y extrana,
La palabra representa not only how you feel,
But how you are percieved,

Strange and extra here.

My California lilt,
My insistance that safe sex is smart,
My ferverent belief que la Union Europea esta enfrentando una situacion imposible con el resultado de los inmigrantes recientes,

In the way I think,
The way I speak,
And the ways I don't,

I have come to feel most comfortable
In defining my nots,

I am not Spanish,
Not European,

Never comfortable in America,
Too many people asking my roots,

Here I have become an American out of what I am not.
Because I simply must belong somewhere,
To something.

Never comfortable in my native land,
In the native tongue and customs,

Here those who want to know me,
Son fascinados con mis raizes estadosunidenses

La primera Americana que se han conocido,
Whether I like it or not,
Funciono como ambasadora de mi pais,

The country that has always questioned my right to the land,
Turned away family on the Saint Louise and left them to die,

Whether I like it or not,
I was born in a country I don't believe in, but will always claim me,

So here,
Extra,
Extrana,
Extranjera,

Understood as so,
Never asked to claim identidad,
I must admit,
I am more comfortable in these
Empty spaces,
Fill in the blanks
Untied shoestrings,
And constant questioning,

It certainly is easier to Not,
than to Know.

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