Borrowing Words

Let me borrow words from your mother tongue:

foreign, hard-to-pronounce, tongue-twisting words,

awkward-moment words when mispronounced

like sheet and beach.

But let me borrow them in writing

where my accent won’t change them

nor distract you from their meaning.

And you’ll read “Land” when I write Tierra

and think of northern sunsets and droughts

while I think of rainy Summers

and chocolate caliente with pan dulce.

I’ll share my rage and anger at injustice,

and we’ll exchange opinions and understand each other.

I’ll use them to write instructions and an occasional sermon,

and to greet you in the morning and become your friend.

I’ll borrow some words to speak of Mystery,

Of that beyond my understanding.

And I’ll call it Spirit or Life or even Dios,

to lift up a prayer for you, for me, for the world

Let me borrow your words for they’re not mine,

They stumble in my tongue and take longer to come.

Every now and then “How do you say...??, how do you say..?”

I pause and ask myself.

Oh words, how they elude me sometimes!

They leave quickly because they know, because they know

they don’t belong to me.

But I must not borrow your words to speak of love

For that sentiment exists in me only in my language,

And love can never fully be amor

And “I love you” falls always short of “Te amo”.