To Lose a Language

By Z. E. Wayland -

    — After Su Hui

Left, right, up, down, spiral in, spiral out,
each the correct way to read what you say.
This brocade fabric with woven words, made
to communicate what can’t be said, bound
instead in character that can’t be found
on the tongue somehow tucked inside my face.
This cascade is beautiful, a display
of lines and waves unsounded in my mouth,
symbols grounded in meaning, and somehow
foreign to the babe born in the same place
as you. I try to recite, only say
aloud the dust repeated on your shroud.
I ask your forgiveness and expect none
For my lost, exiled, and forgotten tongue.

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