My Mother Speaks My Language By Andrea Chow

my mother speaks my language.

not my mother here on earth,

but my mother in heaven.

she speaks to me in my dreams in the language of my ancestors -

she does not know the sinful syllables of white men,

she teaches me to do the same.

she speaks to me like she spoke to juan diego,

she speaks to me like she spoke to all of mexico.

mother Mary speaks nahuatl.

my mother from bethlehem,

who gave birth to a mixed baby before my own earthly mother did

knows the language that is slippery on my tongue and slices open my throat.

Jesus taught his children how to walk the tightrope of the border

fully divine and fully human,

fully mexican and fully american.

in this world but not of it,

in this country but not of it,

in this skin but not of it.

mother maria speaks spanish.

my mother here on earth, 

tangles and twists her tongue

over permission slips and customer service calls.

maria knows the way that the world swirls around her daughter,

she speaks to me in my wake in the language of my colonizers -

she knows too well the sinful syllables of white men,

she teaches me to find strength within it.

she speaks to me like she cries out to her heavenly father,

she speaks to me like she cries out to her home in mexico.