creole

I hope to speak

the language de ma grand-mère,

not the language du colonialisme

but words spoken when stranded

on a bayou. Not the discreet murmur

of Parisian women

who eat but never get fat,

but la langue des femmes

who eat butter,

cornmeal sautéed in butter,

the occasional fried alligator,

and boudain, a sausage

of mysterious interiors.

I want to two-step with each sentence

mais, but it’s hot yes!

and drawl the nasally tones of women

who grow grosses

but who shrink once more

to their farm-day girlish figures

when dementia takes

their appetites away.

For now mamma and I

head to the music store

after yet another funeral,

and I seek the intersection

of zydeco and hip hop.

She stiffens when I tell her

a Redemption Song-singing

Harlemite Haitian in leather pants

has offered to teach me his Kreyòl.

I know what she’s thinking:

Why not learn our Creole first?

and the internet agrees with her.

Cajun French is not to be confused

with créole louisianais or créole haïtien,

both spiced with les mots d’afrique.

But my mother is appeased

when I tell her I could pray

with my neighbors in Haitian Kreyòl

and that after mass, I’d stream

Radio Acadie from Lafayette.

I don’t say I already struggle

to keep up with Dimanche Après-Midi

each Sunday afternoon

distracted by the task

of sautéing kale in coconut oil

with gandules. As I try and fail

to form une phrase complète,

I ask Mary to priez pour moi,

a poor sinner with a blocked

stomach chakra,

according to a Nepali chef

and reiki practitioner.

Sainte Marie,

help me to better digest

this world without end,

and intercede on my behalf

to Nietzsche, who proclaimed

the futility of translating

a people’s metabolism

from their tongue.

Mirielle Clifford is originally from Texas, but she now lives and writes in Crown Heights. She is a co-founder of the poetry collective Sweet Action and has been poet-in-residence at Gemini Hill. Her work can be found in “The Dime Show Review,” “Everyone is Asleep But Me: a Collaborative Project Considering Night,” and elsewhere. She is working on a chapbook, entitled “All the Ways I am Saved.”