Odd One

I inhabit a liminoid space- of borders as birthright... and I span, sometimes straddle three cultures. - It is a delicate balance a tightrope walk though mostly a fusion - a warm embrace. Little girl, kislany, Magyar child I've forever carried my parents '56... Grown to womanhood I've navigated Calo and Spanglish, I became fronteriza, learned to love chiles and camaronnes, these silent sierras, - my life's like a crazy corrido... Now, older I think of you, mother- my last link to something primal, my identity -1st language... And no, I haven't forgotten ( not entirely) I practice with near- strangers Facebook friends who endure my botched spellings, misplaced accent marks... We send our "likes," remark, "nagyon szep" - " very nice." It has come to this now, with the old ones- my refugee family dead. And yes, it's just me- orphan, arva, huérfana always the odd one- furcsa- curiosita.