Don't Drink Bees

I smell the earth
And it makes me hungry

For roots

I am lost
Walking down
A middle path

I wish my route were more direct

But my mother’s grandparents were new cuttings
And my father’s were cross-pollinated seeds
Adrift in the New World

I am a grafted American

Who doesn’t like hotdogs and hamburgers
Who doesn’t watch baseball
And who rarely eats apple pie

I am poorly planted in the middle

To either side of me
Well-traveled roads
Of culture

Leading back to the country of origin
Leading forward to the country of adoption
Smoothly flowing between two worlds

I am only in-between

Wandering back and forth
On this middle road
My shallow roots uncovered

I belong nowhere

I sample sushi and soul food
And dance merengue and bhangra
Along the main routes

But culture can’t be adopted

It’s part of your DNA
It flows through your veins
And is released by family photosynthesis

I am missing that gene

And water and sunlight
Everything that might help me grow

Roots
Tradition
A destination
A place in this world

I smell the earth
And it leaves me hungry

For a home