I watch myself move
from place to place, leaving footprints
that gradually disappear- languages,
learned and unlearned in a span
of ahello, muli bwanji? and au revoir, leaving
only remnants at the backs of old photos.
And even those images fade, lost
somewhere between my growing up
from suplada[ to maulawon to this quiet
wariness of one tired of being redefined
every time I translate my memories, tired
of dropping friends as often as I did my R’s.
So when I found out you spoke spanish,
in a Mexican drawl you found I didn’t care to learn,
you brought your lips to mine, in a silence
that became my personal rosetta stone
etching this memory and those yet to be born:
ones where I found myself
whisper between kisses
“Ndimakukonda…je t’aime…mahal kita…”
in a flawless translation
of how you taught me to love:
with everything
I am.
