Je Ne Parle Pas

I’m not your native tongue.
I speak halos and dreams;
my mouth drips hyssop and honey.

Syllables roll out like deluge
flood waters and fill your neat streets
and you,
you prefer the ocean.
It has definition.
You can find it on a map and say,
“It goes here. This is
how far it stretches.”

My flow makes no sense
to you. It’s unexpected.

But you speak it
sometimes. Your lips press
together and sound out the om,

the hum of coming together
to make a new world.

And when you’re tongue-
tied-breath-caught between the yes
and the no of learning a new language,
I feel your lungs expand.

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s