Mother Tongue
by Atreyee Gupta
Edited by Aigner Loren Wilson
Copyedited by Chelle Parker
February 2022
On the train,
I taste the craggy
imperfections of my molars,
savoring the vestigial
calcifications as I would a
phoneme,
like the ones ma used to teach me:
b… b… b… baba… bälō… baba…
বাবা… বলে… বাবা |
On the train,
two children shake me
speaking a language I don’t recognize
I want to mimic their sounds
press my lips against their air
so the words breathe into my lungs
feel those vowel movements
against my jaw until
I too become
fluent
until
I too become tapestry
instead of the glued-back jar
I am
remember the elocution lessons:
অ, আ, এ, ঐ…
ô, a, e, oi…
the way your tongue swiveled
from roof to floor
a door flapping on its hinge
cawing out syllables
from the back of your throat
baby bird eager for
knowledge
eager for praise
so you could be
one of them
is that why you abandoned
অ আ ই ঈ ô a i ī
ক খ গ র kô khô gô rô
for the shelter of
a b c d
on the train
the beat of
বাংলা Bangla
pushes the
weight of bodies
pressing in
wards urging with
out doubt with
out hesitation
with
certainty
we resist on instinct
is this where we want to go
is this the right train
passengers stare back
they do not understand
after all
why should they
I touch tongue to my molar
clinging to mother
© 2022 Atreyee Gupta
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