Western Voice, Eastern Heart

Her dreams were beautiful, they were solid and coloured vividly, as if carefully drawn by an artistic hand on the whitest, purest canvas. And they were always about America.

Umrika. Oh, America. Land of Milk and Honey Freedom God Guns Bible thumpers Immigrants Emigrants Hollywood Burgers New York honey You Gotta Say it like Ya mean It Ellis Island Democrats Republicans Trump Clinton Obama You Gotta Vote Are Ya kidding' me? How d'ya werk this damn thing Eileen? Collard Greens Black Lives Matter The Latino Vote Catholics Muslims Christians Sikhs Hindus Jews Buddhists I can't say I guess I'm atheist Wow that's progressive.

Umrika. The Real America was hidden somewhere outside her small bubble of posters, irascible like a fever itch in the dark nights. Sometimes the itch was so strong even after she'd thrown off blankets she'd toss and turn , slapping at the slippery sheen of sweaty skin the damp heat swelling everywhere.

The Real America was not POSTERS that Screamed: Go to College! or Uncle Sam needs You to Start Speaking English. America was apple pie, Singing Star Spangled Banner, Teenagers kissing in a Ford Mustang, it was the Fifties, Swinging Sixties, protests, cars, jumbo sizes, New York, New Jersey,New Orleans, a slang, a Yankee, a Dixie, and Indians everywhere man. Just everywhere.

"Indians?"

Yeah, girl, you better believe it.

I thought they were only in Southall.

Man, they're in SOUTH PARK now!

Wow. Progressive.

And when she awoke, she was still in her dream. She could taste freedom like it was yesterday. It tasted in her mind like Coca Cola and Taco Bell-
After Economics class, a peak at her schedule wondering if there was time to no, there- yeah, there might be, just a glimpse. No, no time to daydream of the Big Apple and college life and man, stop it! Stop dreaming yeah?

Everywhere she went, she wanted to speak tell the World what went on in her heart, The only problem was she had a Western Voice, but an Eastern Heart.

Provincial behaviours, concerns had leached into her heart, pumping red blood full of concern for the Third World, for her Peoples, her country. She tried, Man, she did, but she could never just be American.

P, you don't get it.

Why? You keep going on and on about America. Chill.

I can't though. I keep- well,

What?

I don't know.

And if America turned her away, at least it did with a fake pat on the back and a shake of the hand greased with money palms pressed tight against hers.

Thick Eyebrows Brown Skin Wide nose do you Think I'll be Racially Profiled?

Man, I don't know this is Umrika.

And I've got a Western Voice and an Eastern heart.