al oom bakra
shto vor
nee ay nee ay salum
kala bat
shto vor
isram sankar
isram malkar
isram isram
shto vor
floating and leaving no trace
al oom bakra
shto vor
nee ay nee ay salum
kala bat
shto vor
isram sankar
isram malkar
isram isram
shto vor
when we meet again after a long time
i am convinced you have gone native
–as my dad would have said–
from living in a foreign country
even though
you’ve gone nowhere
distance becomes a function
of the passing of time
space itself an illusion when
divorced from the ticking clock
you open your mouth to speak
but all i hear is that place
between two radio stations
you have forgotten
how to use your own voice
you have forgotten
how to speak english
i’m sorry, i say, i don’t speak
knives anymore
i show you my scars
–now thick and no longer pink–
to prove it
——