The Curl of Lips

Pearl lips are twitching when
they form new words
that are strange to me.

And when she asks me to repeat,
I can't bear myself to do it.
I feel like a traitor scorned.

I remember my Grandmother
when the woman is pulling at my face,
"Just try to say it,
it's easy, don't you see?"

—is what I understand now
but thought only of monstrous
garble
when the words first evaporated into air.

"Can you say it?
Say your name."
Her hands are off me now.
"I won't laugh; promise."

I curse her in the language
of kings; of me.
She frowns,
the lines of her face
deepening.

"Why are you so shy?"
Why are you so insistent?

Years later,
I regret my choice
in leaving
my soul
behind.