One of Us

"She's not one of us,"
his mother said sideways.
The words carried
louder than they were spoken.
"Her ways are not ours.
Her father's fathers
weren't born here
like yours.
I can see her past
in her pale eyes."
And then,
in a whisper,
"She's not one of us."

"She's not one of us,"
his mother said clearly.
Her voice sharp,
enunciating each word.
"Her ways are not ours.
Her mother's mothers
aren't from families
like yours.
I can see her past
in her red skin."
And then,
in a whisper,
"She's not one of us."

"I'm not one of us,"
I finally said bluntly.
Strength and acceptance in the words.
"My ways are mine,
and mine alone,
not yours.
I can see my past
in my face."
But then,
in a whisper,
"I'm not one of us."