The Nakedness of New
In this place there are
no monuments to my history,
no familiar signs
that give me bearings,
no corner shops
where food can take me
on a journey home.
Fresh-faced
in an old country,
the new lingo
is a gurgle in throats.
Strange words assault my ears,
throw me off balance.
I seek refuge in mother-tongue
whereever I find or hear it.
Hunger for my people’s voices
has forged odd friendships.
But they have begun to fray
and I cling to shreds.
Cold stares gouge an open wound.
Winter’s icy fangs bite deep down.
A “foreigner” is dust in the eye
and many believe I have come
to plunder their treasures.
Come, hug the cold away,
rock me in your arms,
clothe me in your warmth,
tell me everything will be okay
Pull me back from the cliff’s edge.
© Althea Romeo-Mark 05.06.10
Published in the November 2010 edition of Sea Breeze Journal of Contemporary Liberian Literature (www.liberiaseabreeze.com)
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