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“We lay aside letters never to read them again, and at last we destroy them out of discretion, and so disappears the most beautiful, the most immediate breath of life, irrecoverable for ourselves and for others.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

In an age like ours, which is not given to letter-writing, we forget what an important part it used to play in people's lives. ~Anatole Broyard

To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart. ~Phyllis Theroux

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for Famtz

I watch myself move
from place to place, leaving footprints
that gradually disappear- languages,
learned and unlearned in a span
of a hello, muli bwanji and au revoir, leaving
only remnants at the backs of old photos.

And even those images fade, lost
somewhere between my growing up
from maulawon to suplada to this quiet
wariness of one tired of being redefined
every time I translate my memories, tired
of dropping friends as often as I did my R's.

So when I found out you spoke spanish,
in a Mexican drawl you found I didn't care to learn,
you brought your lips to mine, in a silence
that became my personal rosetta stone
etching this memory and those yet to be born:
ones where I found myself

whisper between kisses
"Ndimakukonda...je t'aime...mahal kita..."
in a flawless translation
of how you taught me to love:
with everything
I am.