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Exchanging one anya-nyelv, mother-tongue, for another is like
nibbling salted peanuts at the sticky bar top,
unplanned but eventual for a bilingual migrant.
The other mother-
nyelv tongue is abandoned
like leftovers in the fridge, at first only
elhanyagolva, overlooked, then discarded.
My semi-conscious weaving of this altering web of otthon, home,
was already faltering and becoming less secure
fractured structure slowly being evacuated.
Now with my temporary return a feeling of foreignness
megcsíklandozza tingles my neck. I am placeless, feeling home neither there
nor here—in webs that had exiled teremtett bölcsődalom my cradle song.
Occasionally, I toy with now messzi szavak distant words.
Belevésve a fogaimat sinking my teeth into their zamatos hús fruit meat,
letting the sounds and syllables legurulni roll down my chin,
and lecsöpögni drip onto my stomach:
Holdfény leple alatt meztelenül vetjük magunkat a világ
veiled moonlight shades our naked forms as we
hurl in new world waves
de ahogy a hajnal pirkadata hasítja dombok
talpát a percnyi romantika megszakad, abba marad… but as dawn
breaks foothills the momentary romance is disturbed, deterred…
This friss új íz fresh new taste gives me paper wings
but like Icarus I come tumbling down
shot through with heat, insecurity and xenophobic bile.
Hesitancy slaps my mouth
for thinking that I, who left, had a right to speak—
akinek hangszálai duruzsolhatnak…
I tread back to egy otthon a home ahol where my
words are unhidden, unchained …
I begin a new embroidery,
I unweave my mother’s dress, picking floss by flow,
Then I gather the gold strings and embed
them within the blueish hues.
A nyelvem is birthed anew
stitching blues and gold through the air.
I feel guilty, but I also feel free.
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