I never learned what it meant to be foreign.

I always foolishly thought I was accepted –

Until I wasn’t.

 

English cut my ears with the rigor of a scalpel

Held in my hand as I dissected a heart

In biology class.

 

My accent takes people aback, with the same question

Asked in every conversation I’m in.

“Where are you from?”

 

“Europe,” I say, embarrassed,

And my beautiful country crumbles behind my back,

And she is screaming in pain.

 

“Eastern Europe,” I add, and my language fades,

Taking with it the rolled R’s and the vocative case

Disappointed.

 

I never learned what it meant to be embarrassed

And ashamed of your own heritage

Until I was.

 

The day I proudly say “Russian” and raise my head up high

And the tricolour shines from behind me – will be the day I’ll be free.

And for now, I’ll smile and avoid the question politely

And carry my tricolour on a key chain.