There’s a tune in my head
There are voices in a familiar language
It is not my tune
It is not my language
This is not me
But it’s no one else either
A girl is singing
I want to have a party at someone’s house, she says
and dance and dance and dance, she says,
while she closes the eyes and starts the moves
I see her dancing already
For a moment I can see the party too
I sense the warm light
and hear the song playing
I start humming the tune
This is not my voice
but I’m not scared (yet)
I follow the song, it leads my way
My words come back through me
Unexpected, disconcerting, exquisite tune
I finally remember the lyrics
They put a smile on my chest
You would smile too, if you knew…

(Someone said this the other day:)

For a poet who’s writing in English as a second language, a mistake –in the use of a word– is a gift.