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Massacre
November 29, 2021
Mouth melts to stillness
Skin is flaked in deceit
I let my syllable prayer
Deceive me the night
I realized that the tiles
Crafting our suburban
Monolith are untouched
By the grains of homeland.
Speech utters the last of
Our love songs and sorcery
Cranking metal too far for elastic
To grow taut in the palm of fluency
Letting the ancient masters
Sit unfulfilled and futile
An exhibition crumbling a pomegranate
Of words to the dust of a foreign magic.
© Samantha A., Southbury, CT
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This piece explores the fading nature of my culture's mother tongue as individuals speak it less often in America.