04-21-2014, 06:40 AM
Speak your language
my mother would bark, with the pins in her
hair coming apart, furrowed brow permanently stuck in
captivity waiting to part, boiling away bad habits
inherited in shaky bloodlines, choking on dreams
her tongue foreign and quick witted
slicing redolent tomatoes, rolling off a forgotten
ship, with memories of young parents waving now
greying, she builds homes with her
teeth, in Canada we speak English like teaching her
thank-you and I am sorry, to remain unseen or
undetected, she teaches me how to worry and
carry weight on my impuissant shoulders, as bones rattle and
crack, she tells me I am only beautiful when I don’t mouth
back, she leans on me but only a little
her footprints are soaked and askew, had walked with rocks in her
shoes, nearly four miles to school, in scalding heat
onions sizzle on the skillet with curry filling
the streets outside, our window is open and she screams
Speak your language
pinching babies to make them susceptible to pain so
pain does not hurt when it comes intruding through the door
guns and death are promised like toys on
Eid in a land where fists are pumped in the air and
bullets fly like birds looking to land on anything
her sister became target practice, swung over a shoulder in wrapped
sheets, dripping gasoline
Speak your language
she taught me bad choices and not to make smiling a thing
ventriloquist housemaid to a man who still refuses to make his own
cup of tea
like broken glass swept up by hand she is stubborn and
cracked, living out centuries of tradition
whipped on her back in Arabic with the ink still burning
red, while war drums play in her bed
pounding and beating, the woman with a flag engraved in her
heart, what lustrous words
must be spoken to undo the mistakes of her mother and
her mother, and whose to blame when your country
is on fire, and you have nothing to give but everything
there ever was
Speak your language
I only know mafi karo
Meaning forgive me,
I say mafi karo,
She sighs heavy and turns off the
stove
my mother would bark, with the pins in her
hair coming apart, furrowed brow permanently stuck in
captivity waiting to part, boiling away bad habits
inherited in shaky bloodlines, choking on dreams
her tongue foreign and quick witted
slicing redolent tomatoes, rolling off a forgotten
ship, with memories of young parents waving now
greying, she builds homes with her
teeth, in Canada we speak English like teaching her
thank-you and I am sorry, to remain unseen or
undetected, she teaches me how to worry and
carry weight on my impuissant shoulders, as bones rattle and
crack, she tells me I am only beautiful when I don’t mouth
back, she leans on me but only a little
her footprints are soaked and askew, had walked with rocks in her
shoes, nearly four miles to school, in scalding heat
onions sizzle on the skillet with curry filling
the streets outside, our window is open and she screams
Speak your language
pinching babies to make them susceptible to pain so
pain does not hurt when it comes intruding through the door
guns and death are promised like toys on
Eid in a land where fists are pumped in the air and
bullets fly like birds looking to land on anything
her sister became target practice, swung over a shoulder in wrapped
sheets, dripping gasoline
Speak your language
she taught me bad choices and not to make smiling a thing
ventriloquist housemaid to a man who still refuses to make his own
cup of tea
like broken glass swept up by hand she is stubborn and
cracked, living out centuries of tradition
whipped on her back in Arabic with the ink still burning
red, while war drums play in her bed
pounding and beating, the woman with a flag engraved in her
heart, what lustrous words
must be spoken to undo the mistakes of her mother and
her mother, and whose to blame when your country
is on fire, and you have nothing to give but everything
there ever was
Speak your language
I only know mafi karo
Meaning forgive me,
I say mafi karo,
She sighs heavy and turns off the
stove