Accents

My accent lingered at bay,
bleaching its skin, hips tucked into a corset,
chewing English.
It cleansed its feet with the salty water
then sat on a boulder, talking to itself,
instructing the tongue how to pronounce,
but it would do otherwise.

‘They will know you got here by boat not bicycle.’

The days spent passing verbs through a needle’s orb,
knitting phrases, the pricking made you kneel
to your toddler self.

I came to send this trouble away.
English is not mine to keep.