February 14, 2012 § Leave a comment
Grandmother I have learned your language twice:
First, out of default.
Second, out of necessity.
I have never dipped my hand in the St Lawrence River,
but I picture it cold.
Out in St Lambert, they were foreign to the city
or were we?
Les Anglais, they always hear Lawrence when its Laurent or Laurence,
don’t they? They butcher it don’t they?
Here, I have used your language so,
so much so, that I have forgotten my own.
Perhaps the waters, in spring, will no longer be ice cold.
Perhaps one day, I’ll return back, one of their own.