This poem was written in a bookstore in Amsterdam (I only bought four books in that bookstore, someone give me an award), right after I learned how it felt to pronounce a word I hadn’t used in years.
Words are boulders Heavy and rough on my tongue Dislodging from my throat They break my teeth on the way out Too many languages Are fighting through my vocal chords: My thoughts a constant landslide Of multicolored pebbles My fingers move faster with a pen Than my lips to strangers’ ears But patiently you wait For the jumble of sounds to disentangle As I clumsily articulate How grateful I am For you