How's Your Polish?

How's Your Polish?

My Polish is almost non-existent now. It was my first language, the only language I spoke until I was 5, but I've lost most of it over the years. My mother in her last years in fact used to say my Polish hurt her ears. Here's a poem about what I have left of my Polish:

KITCHEN POLISH

I can’t tell you about Kant
in Polish, or the Reformation,
or deconstruction

or why the Nazis moved east
before moving west,
or where I came from,

but I can count to ten, say hello
and goodbye, ask for coffee,
bread or soup.

I can tell you people die.
It’s a fact of life,
and there’s nothing
you or I can do about it.

I can say, “Please, God,”
and “Don’t be afraid.”
If I look out at the rain
I can tell you it’s falling.

If there’s snow,
I can say, “It’s cold outside
today, and most likely
it’ll be cold tomorrow.”

____________

from my book Echoes of Tattered Tongues