With halting soft speech
I once tried to tell a writer
About the language of women
Though brilliant, he did not understand
But I cast no aspersions
Why would any man learn the language of women
They have never needed to
A man might pick up a few words
Hello - goodbye
To assure us they mean no harm
Sometimes they even believe it
Yet always reverting to comfortable conversation
Dominant tongue known so well
Don your armour
It’s nine am
Time to use a firm grip, shake hands
Adopt the wide stance to show we belong
After, when alone
We shake it off
Cows in a field shedding flies
With small tremors
Once I spoke my vernacular to Dog-man
(An inside joke)
He slips in through side doors
Mind still deployed to violent places
Sweet-tempered Mya lays at his feet
Golden retriever defense
Against old demons
I am an expert in injury
Bandaging my own wartime wounds
Has made me confident
Soft and slow approach
To connect
To soothe
Compelled to - I’m a mother after all
Here I am
Once again
Reduced to an object above all else
His energy spent staring at my tits
Deaf to my mother-tongue prose
Mistaking my kindness for
permission to consume
If I held resentment for every incident
My temper would be incendiary
Engulfing all the bridges
Carefully built with my second language
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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Comments (1)
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Fascinating poem and well written, good luck