turn-taking
This week in the PEN Poetry Series, PEN America features a poem by Amaan Hyder.
turn-taking
we are trying to sound out the difference between two letters in our parents’ language, d and dh, after dinner conversation
the word beginning with d means box, the word beginning with dh means someone who washes clothes
the slowest walkers can sound out the difference, the quickest not. dh is a distance you can fake, a telephone call
we will never get hold of this language on our own, single letters in the world, because we come to it now like a holiday
we have an interaction in a restaurant tucked away and will pay for the mushrooms that never came
what if we argued against fungi, pushed through with english
are we less inclined to push through with english because english isn’t the only language at home. what if we had a greater inclination to have this bill exactly right, perfect diction
the indian from india outspoken while you are quiet the indian born here
sounds we let slide, not mushrooms
the way a house by a main road gets cracks in the ceiling from traffic vibrations. the way a new widow gets hounded by men for living alone. the way we look with our inside hood pulled tight and outside hood over the top – all tongues
we make the words from our parents’ language, then from our own. we try them out in front of our parents
one is: i want to have a baby without being married. s followed by w, a wavering pronunciation in a word like sword
another is: i want to kiss the baroness’ hand where the man before has kissed it. the pat of lips on lips on a glove
fumbling over buttons: this is me and a man i meet in a bookshop. we both don’t live near enough. i should make books further than my house. i should separate bodies from bodies on a screen
my parents could never have been flaneurs here in england with their hue (in the seventies) and now joints (in their seventies)
i was always poor at encountering men to have sex with. though i wanted to be fluent
when we are at home, our parents often ask us to help them speak to someone who is at the door. our parents say they don’t understand the person’s accent or they can’t get their meaning across. when we speak to the person, the meaning has come across fine. we don’t need to have spoken – this as rehearsal
my parents are to english as they are to the phone when it rings
when we pick up the phone to relatives, they don’t understand our jobs unless we are doctors. they call not knowing the time of day, we can’t remember whether we’ve taken our medication. what should we do. should we take it again
in your stories of the brown men you only sleep with, the brown men are all running trials, tenants running upstairs after putting something in the microwave, stand-up comedians – itinerant, lithe, omega
from your history i can see that you always thought the brown male body the most beautiful. it has taken me half my life and i have it and i’m just as you always would be
a supposition: unevenness in financial means where there’s a relationship between two men of two ages, of two races, of two ages where there’s much pause in the middle
wet cloths hung out in an English winter. are those ever going to dry
growing up, my parents did not know anyone who lived alone. what someone does alone was/is a source of anxiety for them
wedding invitations are often decorated with first name letters (as a letter alone may sit by a profile picture), calligraphed together from a single line
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