The Perimeter of Pure (LONG)

(i)

The words I sputter, aliens to each other
I stitched them together, with barbed sutures
With a mojo to break the rules
 

My sentences beseech for a right
To be heard, I make stuff up
 

<TODAY 1:39 AM message to Pramistha Xisara>>  

Tau ga sih that feeling  

Pas ngeliat saldo di ATM  



<<TODAY 8:00 AM message to Amalia Budhi Hartanto>>  

God I’m so scared  

Gimana ini  

  Why do you have to use English?
You’ve lived here all your life

  All
  my
  life

 
They did not know
I cheated often
I am dirty, dirty, dirty

 

(ii)
My mother, at forty six, pure as a baby
At my age she gave birth to me
A brilliant woman, the approved kind
Her wit in some mysterious ways
Never outshone her husband’s

 
Her tongues are many, yet unlike mine,
Speak of incorrupt sentences one at a time
Full of experience, from where her words had come
(Dictionaries are where I took mine
Told you I cheated often!)

 
Her first language
I do not understand
I do not have my mother's tongue

 

(iii)
Trapped in afterthoughts:
Lest they called me Westernized
Trying too hard is a grave sin. Much worse than not trying
Lest they thought I was posing. Poser. Poseur.
Pirouetted along the perimeter of pure
 

(iv)

Giving up. For much too much
My future is tossed in word salads
 
 
My mother does not eat salads,
She is a baker. She values precision
My mother and I, we share a face
And little else
 

At forty six she is pure as a baby
I am dirty, dirty, dirty

 

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