My Own

Photo by René Hallen and Radka Leitmeritz

I.

In the city
I have found my people.
We sit on streets and call men by different words.

In this city,
I have made a language
with those who speak tongues that are not mine.

II.

She is my own by virtue of alikeness.

She smiles at me like a reflection.
There is brown where brown is,
soft yellow skin
and eyes that curve like lotus petals folded thinner.
The nip of cold mountain air
shines on cheeks that tan like mine in tropical heat.
Her lips speak words
to familiar people in language I know.
She smiles at me and there’s sameness.

She smiles at me and I see difference.
We speak and do not understand.
Our eyes are cut from the same flower
and her reflection is not mine.

Language
becomes what I choose to speak
only with those
who I make my own.