Partly it’s my accent

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.

grayscale photo of computer laptop near white notebook and ceramic mug on table
Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com

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.

Published by Dayna E. Mazzuca

I write books and host retreats to bless the JOURNEY

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