Always the odd one

I inhabit a liminoid space- of borders as birthright and I span, sometimes straddle three cultures. - it is a delicate balance a tightrope walk though mostly a fusion - a warm embrace. Little girl, kislany, Magyar- child I've forever carried my parents' '56... Grown to womanhood I've navigated Calo and Spanglish, I became fronteriza learned to love chiles and camaronnes, these silent sierras... my life, a crazy corrido... Now, older I think of you, Mother- my last link to something primal, my identity- 1st language... And no, I haven't forgotten- ( not entirely) I practice with near- strangers - Facebook friends and they endure my botched spellings, the misplaced accent marks... as we send " likes" to one another and remark, " nagyon szep" " very nice..." It has come to this now, with my refugee family- the old ones dead and thus, it's just me, arva huérfana orphan- always furcsa- curiosita always- the odd one.