Mother Tongue
Dec 23 2008


My mother tongue
first came
like sound through water —
softly muffled . . .
its low notes
a cathedral organ,
reverberating back and forth . . .
the soothing rhythm
of waves on a distant shore.

And as I became self-conscious
aware
that I owed myself
to the mercy of the world,
it tripped
the synapses of thought just so.
And with its words
I am an impostor,
who has everybody fooled.

So when I found myself
in a strange land
in a foreign tongue
speaking like the first grade of school,
I appeared both deaf and dumb.
Some thought me stupid,
which is how I felt.
Others confused silence with wisdom,
attributing great depths
to this inscrutable Buddha,
who had such an agreeable smile.
And me, I felt free —
thinking small thoughts;
letting myself go
by feel.

In this second language
I am a child again;
immersed in its music,
concerned only
with incomprehensible sound.