i don't talk to people. sometimes i smile, and i know how to say hello, but i don't talk to people.
i can read, though. it was foreign to me until middle school age, but the runes on the pages of the holy book, the look of my mother's first language, became words that i could slowly untangle. and i was proud of myself,
but that doesn't matter when i don't talk to people. my grandmother tiptoes in conversation with me; her eyes know no frustration but she cannot expect a full reply. my cousin laughs with my mother and i can't help but wonder if she wishes i’d laugh, too. and i worry that the words will refuse my american accent. i worry i do not eat enough spiced curry, pray enough to the right gods, or even act indian enough.
i don't talk to people. i’m not sure how.
hi! it's been a while. i've been in a poetic rut for a few months, but i came up with this. :)