Language Barrier
on the train from Lagos to Faro
I hear the white noise of dialects
that don’t belong to me –
the patient grandmother teaching
a little boy to sound out the names
of towns with too many vowels
a group of sun-lacquered gypsy women
in long skirts, the flamenco cadence
of their gossip and laughter
riding above and below everything
tall Swiss-girl twins, rushing
by my seat on their way
to the next car, who don’t remember me
living in their father’s villa years ago
a group of chattering Americans
get on in Albufeira
while I pretend to not know English
the metallic backbeat of the train
clanging through citrus groves
we travel deeper into spring
floating down the rails
I lean back
fully belonging
for once to zero
dreams swim in my mind like bright fish
.
Jon Lavieri holds an MFA from Western Michigan University. His poems have appeared in Anacapa Review, New York Quarterly, unlost, Stone Poetry Quarterly, Naugatuck River Review, and elsewhere. He lives in Rhode Island and teaches English and writing to immigrants and refugees.
.
Stone Poetry Quarterly 