We yelled ‘strawberry!’
In the language that felt borrowed,
That didn’t taste quite right,
All nine thousand taste buds sticking to the consonants.
But we spoke in two tongues,
One soured by Swedish,
The other licking the syllables of a system child-made.
We yelled ‘jordgubbe!’
To make things clear, spectator:
We italicise the foreigner,
Leaning away from the English,
A stranger on a bus,
Not quite comfy with the others’ touch.
We yelled nonsense.
Threw our toys at the sun to watch them fall.
Fronds of a plush Cocker Spaniel clumpy with sand.
Chains wrapped around chains wrapped around skinny limbs spinning:
Dizzy, never nauseous, we were brave.
We yelled ‘strawberry!’
So we didn’t have to go.
Milking daylight until Mom arrived:
The only time I wasn’t happy to see her.
In the warm hall, she spoke to Daddy,
Arms crossed.
We were quiet,
Savouring every pleasantry,
No regard for the lingo of the grown,
Warring with the end of perpetuity,
Wishing our stillness would make us unknown,
So I didn’t have to go.