I have English in my heart.
I know how that sounds for a frenchman. Like betrayal, maybe, until I hear what English kept from going quiet. English got the poems, the long thoughts, the little jokes I used as splints.
French is not in my heart. It’s dans mon corps.
I know how that sounds too. Like I’m hiding a language in the body because my mouth keeps dropping it. But French got there before grammar did: the room changing, the look across the table, ça va landing in my stomach as leave it alone. It got the warning. It got the flinch. It got the body before I did.
And yet, when I bleed,
I bleed
before either language
gets a say.
About the Creator
Patrick Gadoury
I'm an author and publisher of poem anthology group from northern Ontario, I like enabling other voices and new writers. I'm also a novel writer, known for the indie darling Noetic Gravity that came out in June 2025. Here I write for me.
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