By Kara Melmed

I am a child of unknown descent.

Innocent

of the condescending fashion

that you be asking me

questioning me

wondering ’bout my ethnicity,

making me aware,

making me care

that I don’t know from where

or what is

my heritage.

My mother says Palestine

was the start of the line

it’s the same for all God’s children.

But I want to know what

happened

to my people since then.

And I know

you don’t know

that I don’t know my line.

But don’t tell me yours.

Don’t ask me mine.

It’s a waste of our time.

Anecdote:

I was talking,

chilling

with this kid the other night,

Then dialogue

turned into fight.

Topic of conversation

was the Jews and their flight.

Fleeing persecution

from the Anti-Semites.

Then the next day,

is this casual way,

with no contemplation

and thus no comprehension,

he has the negligence to turn to me and say:

“Where is it that you come from?

“See, I don’t know

from where my people come.

pertaining to our last conversation,

how come you didn’t have the realization

we’ve had to leave every nation

who so ever so graciously

allowed my race in.”

Yes,

I am a child of unknown descent,

don’t know where I been,

but I am going where I’m meant.

Hoping to prove its not my ethnicity,

but my destiny

that matters.