bilingual

there’s a video of a teacup breaking
in reverse, its fractured pieces drawn back
into place like a ghost solving a jigsaw.
too bad we can’t push the rewind button

on a lost language, can’t rewrite an alphabet
on the chalk-brushed blackboard of erasure.
best we can do is fill in the fissures
of our vernacular & smooth out the chipping.

listen, pay your teachers no mind
when they say we speak broken french.
they’ve never had to reassemble the remnants
of their mother tongues after mourning

the remnants of their mothers.
they don’t know that kreyol is a kintsugi cup.
when the buccaneers dropped our dialect
against Ayiti’s shores, we pieced it back together

with whatever was left lying around.
now each time we open the china drawer
of our mouths, there’s copper
more than anything else. so what

if our teacups weren’t glued with gold.
don’t they still shimmer
in the light? don’t they still hold water?
can’t you still press one to your lips & drink?