The Outsider

I know what it’s like to be an outsider.

I know how English sounds
when every word is only music.

I know how it feels not
to be an American, an English, a French.
Call them 
            Kharejee—Amrikayee, Ingleesee, Faransavi,  
see them 
            see me as alien, immigrant, Iranee.

But I’ve been here too long.
I am now an American
        with an American husband
        and American children …

But mark this—I do not belong anywhere.
I have an accent in every language I speak.