Mother Tongue

Mother Tongue,

kiss me

goodbye,

for I’m going to a land where I will see you

not.

You may write me letters

which I can throw away from me,

but never again will you seize me in frenzy

and shake your words out of my mouth and my fingertips

whenever you think I should be shaken.

Over the telephone

I can make faces and you won’t know.

I can speak another language

and I don’t have to translate everything for you.

This morning I went out to breakfast.

I saw sitting across from me

dos mujeres guapísimas

speaking my mother tongue.

I think they noticed my

mirada fija

and they looked at me with reproach

in their exotic eyes.

I should have introduced myself.

We are all strangers in this country together.

We should have been the best of amigas,

they being two parts of my soul,

And I, a vision of their bodies.

They wore their hair in the style of my country.

Lengua Materna, bésame –

vuelvo a tus brazos.

Antes de nacer, fueron tuyas las palabras que pululaban en mi

cerebro.

Te he ido conociendo por las aulas y los libros

con una paciencia que mata las demás emociones.

Te he llegado desde lejos,

tras las millas que debían ser kilómetros.

Con cada paso me sentí una transformación, una metamórfosis

del tipo de ocurre solo a los que se cambian de piel,

que tienen la luz nuevamente restaurada,

que, después de pasar largo tiempo sin lengua, se encuentran

capaz de hablar.

Echando de mi boca la fluidez de tus palabras

que nunca se impusieron sobre mi lengua,

me siento por fin

guapa.

Mother language, kiss me –

I’ve returned to your arms.

Before I was born, yours were the words that swarmed in my brain.

I have come to know you through classrooms and books

with a patience that killed all other emotions.

I have come to you across the miles,

which should have been kilometers.

With each step I felt in myself a transformation, a metamorphosis

of the kind that only happens to people who exchange their skin,

who have their vision newly restored,

who find themselves able to speak after a long time tongueless.

Dripping from my mouth the fluidity of your words,

which never forced themselves onto my tongue,

I feel at last

beautiful.

This poem is part of the collection Dusk Before Dawn: Poems. More info: https://www.jessicaknauss.com/dusk-before-dawn-poems/