Three

tonight, after the Dutch homework, before my last cup of
tea, i had a terrifying moment. reading aloud, i thought i
could no longer hear a difference between the way i said
"row" and "roll". i said them over and over to myself,
in phrases, in sentences, every new context a chance to
redeem myself, to cling onto this, my language, my
facility, who i am when i am where language is all, an identity, a barrier,
more than i imagined before. – but i cannot, as you keep reminding me,
underestimate the power of history.

because i haven't learned Dutch yet, i can't always use
"niet" and "geen" correctly yet, i crawl along
from the safety of one known word to the next. they all
sound funny and alien and miraculous.
zwoel. gebroken.

so i cannot lose this, my English, mine, a language that
ties me to who i am, opens me to you, closes you to me.

i saw a movie on Friday, where two sets of subtitles
competed for my attention with the English dialogue. i can barely
read either French or Dutch, but my eyes still refused to stop
flitting between them, drawn to the letters, to words i knew,
to phrases i could piece together between the two languages,
even though i didn't need to.
i could close my eyes and and hope to understand.