Two Languages

A poem describing the "how and why" of my Canadian pride.

I speak  




two languages.

I see through two eyes.

I see through white,

through red,

through blue and the fact

that you don't quite see things

the same way I do.

I see rolling fields

and think smooth hills.

I see endless grain

and think tall, straight spires

of faded copper,

borrowed shapes

and the transported architecture

of somebody else's nation.

I hear drawling vowels

and think thick tongues,

heavy with a beautiful language.

I watch vowels cut off

from the spectrum of sound,

hear accents misplaced


or forgotten,

and I think,


I speak




two languages.

I am

one person.

But I have two ways

to express myself,

two trains to take,

two choices to make,

two different paths

and two tongues.

I see through two eyes,

down through two roads,

over two bridges

leading to one heart.

I am one heart;

I am one person.

And whichever language

you choose,

whichever tongue

you happen to use,

I will answer you proudly

and make you understand.

I listen.

But I also speak

and think

and live

and dream

and love

two languages.

The End

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