Poem by Chanel Clarke

In English, we say “I’m third generation”.

In poetry, we say:

“My culture lies somewhere in the in-between.

I was born here, but you can find a part of me

between the borders of countries I’ve never been to.

In places I don’t even know exist yet.

In a language that’s mine, that I understand but can’t speak.

In the drills they used to make us do in Punjabi school when we were little.

In the pride I take having the highest spice tolerance in the family.

In the fact that I eat with my hands even though other people think it’s gross.

In my hair.

In the inter-generational trauma

and the grief

and the ‘why didn’t I ask my grandparents more questions while they were still here?’

I was born here, but I’m still looking for a way home.”