All Souls’ Day

A faint sun greets eerily,
diffuse light filters through
morning fog.

Heavily it lays on
the crimson leaves
of the Dogwoods.

November casts its shadow
on my soul, my emotions
as I reminisce on the past three decades.

There has been much grief.
Mourning the loss of my parents,
mourning the loss of my unborn child,
Leaving my family, my friends, my homeland
for a new one abroad.

Unknown culture,
people that did not grow up
with the same values
or importance placed on belonging
to family, place, and history,
and the safety net this provides.

Superficial invitations of
‘Why don’t you come over?’
met with incredulous expressions
of disbelief, when I showed up
like I would back home
for a quick visit or cup of coffee.

Humiliation and shame
accompanied me
as I struggled to find happiness
in a strange world,
tried to find myself
as I was getting lost
in an environment foreign to me.

Women wore dark-colored pant suits to work,
and I felt out of place,
sticking out like a clown at a funeral,
wearing my professional, but colorful garments.

I learned that I had to have
my husband’s signature
on the application to open a bank account,
or when I applied for a credit card.

I could not be on the deed
of our sailboat
because it could be annexed in
case of a war,
and foreigners were not allowed to own
an American vessel above a certain length.

It enraged me that this country
was so backwards,
blatantly ignoring women’s rights,
the rights I, an emancipated woman,
had considered my birthright.

It struck me as odd
that when introduced to strangers
and I extended my hand to greet them,
it would be ignored,
and I, with my hand in mid-air,
stood there dumbfounded.

It bugged me to be pushed
into a dependency
I had never experienced in my life,
and I lost a little bit more
of myself in the process.

Many moves forced new beginnings,
adjustments were called for again and again
and helped me to reinvent myself.

Thirty-one years later,
I finally am me again,
not externally, I aged, of course,
but I reclaimed myself
– through motherhood and menopause,
and I love seeing the sparks in my eyes again.