Matter Of Heritage

My ancient words,
self mutilated...
moving beneath me
in my veins and muscles
or just sitting in my eyes
like skulls of birds

These words, my heritage
sun themselves on the mind's terrace
like turmeric coated raw mango slices
I seek to lacquer them with gold leaf

I'm looking for Grandma's patois
a new heaven, a new earth
I want to scrape them clean of rust
I want to bring out ethers snuffed by the sun
I want to bring alive the fulcrum of an embrace

I am lost in an acquired language
It smothers me like moss and lichen
A lineage grunts
I feel a riverbank drying
As my my lips part into a map of thirst

I want to speak like my ancestors did
Inhale once more the lingering incense of words
Not befriend cigarettes
At the edge of paved stones

Come back to me, my heritage disguised as a tree
Keep me in your shade
I'll polish your every leaf
I'll never let your branches become bare
I'll speak your roots
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