My Mother’s Tongue

My mother’s tongue

is the Maître d' of an old bistro on a grey street,

the clientele all drink and smoke too much,

the décor is old but the food is fine, and the windows are clean.

My mother’s tongue is a rake that tends to

the small yet loved gardens of the poor.

My mother’s tongue has talked a long story

full of mirth, madness, holy Marys, and stale mustard sandwiches.

My mother's tongue is the cut tongue of a heretic.

My mother's tongue is yellow tobacco stained.

My mother's tongue is a motherless girl's tongue,

an old battled and bruised crone's tongue.

My Mother's tongue must taste of

Hennessy Cognac, Fry-ups, batch bread, Irish stew.

My mother’s tongue is the tongue of a bodhisattva in disguise.