“mother’s tongue” by Lillian Ali

my mother tongue insults my mother’s tongue.

spat like seeds of an underripe orange, peeled by impatient hands.

graceless and stiff, like my bastard throat. 

we cannot cough out the words. 

we lack poise, my mother tongue and I

there’s a line ahead of us. 

drawn by my mother’s 

mother’s 

mother’s 

mother tongue 

mothers ten times over have followed this line, 

but we choose instead to chop it into bits.

to butcher is free,

and we do not care to pay the price of learning 

(I fear we are past the point of trying) 

we cough our little bits out,

lest we choke on the bitter juice of an unripe orange. 

(I fear we drank too fast)