My grandmother speaks in tongues
She splatters all the stories that birthed her
on the floor
She drains her memories into a fountain I cannot drink from
She opens her heart as wide as the stretch of her arms
But a cold wall stands between us;
a language
I cannot understand her
I am learning to recite non-verbal sonnets
Make everything an unspoken communion
The peeling of ripe mangoes
Or the breaking of fire roasted potatoes
There is no meaning to the flap of my lips
A foreign tongue holds my words captive
She cannot understand me
Where is my mother tongue?
She had given it to my mother by osmosis
And when she nursed me,
I was meant to absorb the code
forged in the belly of the forest where the ancestors rest—
A map to myself,
A compass to freedom,
A cypher to treasures buried in song.
Where is my mother tongue?
I want to swallow it whole
Let it slit my throat
And transplant vernacular
Lost to my ears
Into my heart
Let it lead me
To everything we have lost
Chimezie September 19, 2022 12:29
a beautiful poem. Relatable!