My language is in exile here,
hard to decode, appreciate the nuances of,
the idioms
of where I come from—
I get that.
Yet on some level I still want to build a bridge,
even though I see (everyday) I can only
do half.
Whatever language or idiom we speak, through our words or actions, our work or our pain, we share a desire to be heard, decoded, employed on a meaningful level.
This poem appears in my new book of poetry called Roses in Winter.