don't forget
by Sylvia Beato
as memory so language blooms
lazy and corrosive in the body
my father for one doesn’t refuse
to teach my mother english
but his tongue is tired
and in any case he knows
she prefers quiet projects
tending the difficult african violent
or sensitive orchid that paint
the sturdy kitchen sills
on which she sips cafecito every morning
and swears to me
this really is the land of opportunity
and my father should practice english
with her because otherwise
but coming home he’s restless
wrestles the pistil tip of his tongue
to touch the shapes of words
that don’t taste foul
don’t poison
the very water that feeds you