has no confluence with yours,
though they share
a long-lost wellspring.
Your words float
on the current of my thought.
They sink into me, slowly, deeply.
The black pupils of a river
watch the night.
I left that river far behind.
I never left that river.
The water reflects constellations
Sometimes smoothly,
Sometimes rippling, eddying
Stirred by a living creature
That moves just under the surface.
Time has carried me far away
From the city where I was born.
Memories overlap,
Events are blurred into stories,
Names drift into oblivion.
A single image remains
Clear and ever-present:
A bridge spans a broad river.
The latticed arches sweep up,
Then curve gracefully
To touch their own reflections,
Like the wings of a bird
Taking flight.
Dislocation of habits and views. Culture shock.
Mind inflamed by confusion.
The doctors take one look at me
And order a language transfusion.
First, they tried intravenous TV,
But I had an allergic reaction.
So, they switched me to nursery rhymes,
Grammar textbooks, and classroom instruction.
There was hope: I began to respond.
In a month, my condition was stable.
I could say “How are you?”, “Goodbye”,
Even name a few things on the table.
After that my recovery was
Just a matter of time and good care.
Yet my grammar and accent were scarred,
So sometimes when I spoke, people stared.
Now I’ve healed. I am as good as new.
Or almost. Sometimes when it rains,
My past tenses tense up and they ache
With the memory of their past pains.
It took a long while to fully taste
The sweetness, the bitterness
Of the country that welcomed me,
Healed me with freedom,
Nourished me with opportunity,
Flung wide open doors to the future.
But I can no longer deny:
Here, too, brutality partners with fear;
Here and now they brew their recipe —
The same acrid hooch that intoxicated
My distant birthplace.
Wonder, tenderness, celebration
Are laced with that familiar poison.
So what do I do with my gratitude,
With its sweetness that spills over the brim?
Pour enough of it out to make room
For the bitterness, the sorrow,
The shame of witnessing
What is being done to “them”
In the name of “us”?
Or do I keep the bile
In a different container
From the honey?
How do I raise my toast?
How do I drink it?
A sip from this cup, a sip from that one?
Or do I take it in together:
The nectar and the venom?
