My breath is like the oldest language I have known, the oldest language ever spoken the oldest I have managed to break and share with those I’ve touched like daily bread it fills me up it speaks its sullen tones through me and soothes the soft dulcet cries of the children I’ll never have.
It’s the lost language I inherited from all my mothers, all those mothers I’ve never known and all those brothers who I never saw die, whose funerals I never attended, thanking god you never knew them all those brothers I never lost. All that heartache I never truly felt, whose echoes are but numbing tenor calls, their gospel choirs sounding out the ebbing of my forebears’ brittle bones.
And when it sings again its subtle song, a lullaby to bring me further still to rest and weep with tears of joy, I cannot help but ache.
Foundling Vibes 