By Defne Yavuz
If sounds could live I would like mine
to live in a nice house with white walls and a flat roof
close to the sea where the breeze carries the smell
of sea salt, sometimes.
The air would be damp just like the dirt housing the foundations.
Let the concrete find a home in foreign wetland.
Cup my hands near my chest and speak upwards so my prayer would carry.
Sometimes it’s difficult to speak and hear every woman
who spoke in the same voice first.
What is not usually spoken about
sound, is that,
it’s quite hard to remember how a sound moved up your throat
when the walls and the roof feel frigid-unfamiliar
but it was you who wanted to move in, it was you.
The guilt in your roots is the only thing truly yours,
Because you knew the foundations would sink deep.
If instead you’d built the house in your body,
The sounds would find home in your chambers.
The sounds, if they could speak, would say something
you couldn’t understand
(you never really learned the mother tongue).
It would sound familiar
And maybe you’d reply
(you can still reply)
Cadence yours, welcome home.
