I see her on the street; she looks
like me, straight hair, small hips.
Our eyes meet, her mouth opens.
Words like fish fall from
her throat and flop
in the air between us.
For a while there's that awkwardness:
What can I do with these fish in the air?
How can I get these fish back in my mouth?
My mouth opens to let breath escape.
Her hand moves to cover hers.
I hear a soft, self-conscious saw-lee
whose tongue swims across
Japanese, Chinese
and ni tai-tai how ma
whose tongue thrashes
among English
now but if you rike reave messahge...
Verb endings, articles, pluralizations
like hooks in her throat.
Her eyes won't look at mine
anymore, concentrating only
on her map in clutched hand.
I say stop! but she is gone,
feet jerking her body like
mine away from me.
I look at myself
in storefront glass and see her cheekbones.
I twist my neck to the right and crane,
touching the hollow between shoulder bones.
Throat, I say, what language is your guest today?
©Copyright Annji Kinoshita
The accent of my mother
Kudamono ga daisuki desu.
Hi. We not home
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