Speaking Language<\/p>\n
I am not speaking English now.
\nThe lightest word will alter our trajectory.
\nThe slightest touch, and another marvel
\nof translation blows itself to feathers,
\nto pieces of paper fluttering in a cracked wall.
\nI am trying to tell you. Listen to the faucet.
\nHear what I look like. Imagine<\/p>\n
the dark-haired phrase you fell in love with
\nduring a sixth grade picnic. Now give her
\neloquent eyes, a slender body, a new name.
\nHer syllables roll over your tongue,
\nskate over breaking ice. Words do that well.
\nWhite grains, small grains,
\nlong grains scattering on linoleum. What
\nlanguage looks like: a woman unafraid to eat.<\/p>\n
The lake is breaking. Underwater
\nswims a long black fish, a sleek diver.
\nShe is not speaking English now.
\nShe sends meanings to the surface
\nin white bubbles, in pearls. They roll
\nup the sides of your face, in laughter.
\nThey break against the glass.<\/p>\n
You say she is that kind of woman. You slur
\nthe night with her. She leaves behind
\nno letter, no predictions. You have not heard
\nthe diction of her face for weeks. She has
\ngiven voice to me. And I am not speaking
\nEnglish. Listen harder. Tell me
\nwhat I look like, once you’ve looked away.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Elizabeth (Betsy) Aoki<\/a> completed her MFA from the University of Washington and has received fellowships from the City of Seattle, Jack Straw Writers Program, and Artist Trust Foundation. In addition to various academic literary journals, her poetry has been anthologized in Yellow as Turmeric, Fragrant as Cloves: A Contemporary Anthology of Asian American Women\u2019s Poetry<\/em> <\/a>and in Fire On Her Tongue: an eBook Anthology of Contemporary Women’s Poetry.<\/em><\/a> Her chapbook, Every Vanish Leaves Its Trace<\/em> <\/a>was published in 2009 by Finishing Line Press.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Speaking Language I am not speaking English now. The lightest word will alter our trajectory. The slightest touch, and another marvel of translation blows itself to feathers, to pieces of paper fluttering in a cracked wall. I am trying to … Continue reading