Self Translation
How to translate myself?
When I think of all the times
my father chose not to use his tongue
the words fail me.
I wake to the negotiation of birds,
wish to trade my larynx for a syrinx
— follow the breadcrumb trail
down to trachea, toll-free.
To inhale and to mime are both hollow
acts, no incisors needed,
the voice box just a rule book,
another bone breakable.
How do they know it’s the right time
to leave the nest? for me
thorns take root in the jaw,
air builds up in the lungs,
relentless,
the ribcage clock
tolling frenetically
against the chest.
It’s a countdown
to the decisive moment
when I will bare my own gums
to form the future tense,
my milk teeth melting as I
mouth to the sun my language
and behind the eyes
fireflies
- © Miguel Jacq 2022
Miguel Jacq is a French-Australian writer residing in Melbourne. In 2016 and 2018 he won the Nillumbik Ekphrasis Poetry Award.
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