tangerines on a summer morning

my grandma speaks as if...

my grandma, she speaks in two broken languages. i don't know which one to claim mine. one is soft and delicate like her words and it taught me patience. the other one is like her rage, so fiery that it could burn even the ocean.

she speaks punjabi as if bulle shah himself raised from the dead and chose to write the humans with poetry and humanity. she speaks haryanvi as if somewhere in haryana, a girl is still fighting for herself. she mixes both languages as if the color of rage in her eyes is spreading over the tenderness in her hands.

~ trishna

this is inspired by ocean vuong's poem 'kissing in vietnamese '