Literature
Guest Worker
Guest Worker
I am clumsy with words,
Shifting them like heavy earthen vessels,
Unwieldy things whose numbers and circumferences
Exceed the breadth of my arms and quantity of hands
And whose sounds hit heavy
When they land,
Sometimes beautiful even when they’ve broken.
Reworking them in combinations
I have once heard spoken,
I’m not particularly successful
At keeping the cadence.
With words, I am in a foreign land.
Others seem as though expression
Is second nature to them,
But words are not
My first language.
Why does the unskilled worker like myself
Return to the world
Where uttered combinations
Resonate with
