Lansi Kella



My wife has a rich heritage
A good helping of British, a stock of Dutch
Assimilated with Sri Lankan
And sprinkled with a pinch of flour
To make a scrap of Belgian waffle
And many other lineages that rest
On a website as roots of a Genealogy tree

She identifies herself as “Lansi”
The colloquial Sinhalese term for a colonial ancestry
What is more Celtic and conqueror
Than peasant or laborer. She proudly speaks
The tongue of the land that makes her an archetype
Of a ‘sudu godaya’, hyphenating words together
Than gushing out a wordy diarrhea
In the name of nativity

Her mosaic puzzle in print
Can only be torn like a love-letter from the past
To paste together a collage of a sanctuary
Where aliens by birth, land for comfort food,
A ghost town of sorts with many colorful walls
Where scribbled are a myriad of gene art and blood graffiti
In the absence of rare armistices
To that evasive holy grail of identity

And still she will always be Lansi
A fusion of the native and the outlander
A rare intrusion of what it means
To conquer and be conquered
By a beautiful landscape called adulteration
Where stands a rare jewel, a chemical hodge-podge
As amalgamated as my wife’s heritage

And Lansi was what she uprooted
To metamorphose my life to where it stands now.

A beautiful composite of shade and tint
We call love.


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