Member Poem

They call it your mother tongue
because if you want to get rid of it,
it must be cut, torn, ripped out.
And when you rip it out, it will not go easily –
it will bleed so much and so quickly
that your mouth will fill with its blood,
and every word you utter from then on
in any other language
will be stifled by the gurgle and choke in your throat,
as you try desperately to swallow it down.
And when it finally comes spitting out
from behind your guilty lips,
the blood will not be red –
it will be the color of your homeland
(which happens to be the same color as your mother’s eyes),
only now it has all pooled in a puddle at your feet,
your tongue lying limp in the midst of it.
And when you go to step over it,
when you go to walk away,
it will stain the soles of your shoes,
and now everyone can see
how you’ve trod all over your homeland and your mother’s eyes,
like the army of some alien nation.
And when you eventually realize
that your mouth cannot bear the weight of language,
not without your tongue,
your teeth will crack under the pressure and your gums will turn blue,
and your mouth will be empty,
and so will you.