Mother Tongue
The year my little sister
was born, I began
to talk to plants.
In a bowl of fragrance
behind our house
I sat among whispering leaves.
Not yet able to read
I could easily decipher the sounds
of their language.
I knew what it was
to be a queen among the lilies
of my little valley.
Even now, despite decades of study
I have not entirely unlearned
those soft syllables.
They return unbidden
and slip me back into
the syntax of my primary language.