Someone thought they
owned language
and flailed it
across the bodies of others.
The another
forced to wear it
ill-fitting syllabary
forgot her old own
maybe, but not its meanings
She told hers
these are your clothes, yes
But under here,
she touched their skin
there are your meanings
our old own.
They will teach themselves to you.
She left with it tangled in her hair
maybe, but the hair of her children
smelled familiar
their skin warming under it
they found the offbeat
where language isn't anybody's.
It fit just right in their mouths.
Jun 4, 2010
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