I learned the language of words
but also that of signs –
which lies are welcome,
which truths unspeakable,
which sentences explode,
which soothe like a cool breeze.
I whispered to hide my foreign vowels.
I learned to be seen and not heard –
to soothe my joints, white with anger,
and the yellow bruises of shame.
I practiced insincerity
and swift apology,
hoping new linguistics
might arise from generations
of politeness mispronounced.
But the years spilled into
a new millennium and
I learned – however much
you love a language,
it may not love you back.
