Monday, April 20, 2015


Teach me to relearn the ways I walked
without tripping into the old holes my soles dug into the ground 
I'd be grateful for help
I know these potholes,I know the cobbles Hansel left before me 
too big for pigeons to carry, hard for our stomach to crunch on our way back 
from the war of distance, the holy fight for a place, 
that senses us the same way with its hands, 
fleeing us off-raw,
raw like the end of eggs left to simmer in the heat

leave me to stumble on my language, 
let me eat my old tongue, spit words 
after chewing on the wrong ends for too long
 all too clumsy of breath, like lemon, acidic
I dash with a lull of adventure and a twinge of the past
while yours is flavored with strawberries and smooth showered honey
language is our first marker
it marks how we morph
From caterpillars into straight pillars
To lend a hand, for the future

You leave me to swim
in my own sweat
how could you be more considerate?

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