Photo by elCarito on Unsplash

The Dream of a Mother Tongue

I grew up inside of a language and carved it into a home. When I go back to visit it is boarded up and the door is locked shut. I feel some relief. I’m afraid I would not know my way around the rooms if I were to walk inside. I grew up inside of a poem and then I wandered out and lost the music of it. In Arabic the words are shaped the exact way you are meant to feel them. The word “hold” wraps itself around you tight, round and warm…