Image borrowed from Bing
Autobiography as Language
Blame military life, family scuttling
from Los Angeles to Germany,
back again before my words
could find the vocal fold of English.
Blame the bilinguality of chance.
German first--ham fisted umlauts,
non-negotiable consonants stacked
by the hubbub of need. Blame
the new neighborhood, four parts
Mexican, no parts half-blood.
Or blame me, cardboard color heavier
than a sneaker in the back, fist
that makes the jaw clack. If the Mexicans
bum-rushing me before school
was bad, my mother making them
lunches was worse. You know they
don't have any food, pushing me out.
Peanut butter and jelly in tow for Alex,
Chucho, and John; brawlers who would
rather swing than understand why I looked
like them, but sounded like the man
at the newspaper stand. Blame pain,
turning everyone a ripe shade. Language
comes before crawling. Blame that.
Adrian Matejka
from THE DEVIL'S GARDEN.
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