when you can’t speak
the language
it’s like absolution
your conscience swept clean
of nouns and infinitives
you hear only the song of it
guttural, geminate, trill
trick of longitude and latitude
activating the whole
oral cavity
perhaps a demand
as in I want green tea
or an inquiry
Where’s the train station?
You can’t be expected to know
it’s all Greek or Portuguese
how strange then
to find in those jumbled spirants
affection, hostility, ennui
proclaiming so powerfully
.
Liz Drayer is an arbitrator in Clearwater, Florida. Her stories, poems, and essays have appeared in
numerous print and online publications. Her website is lizdrayer.com.