Lost In Translation

'Ay'oop luva-duck! How ya bin?'

The words shock me

they don't fit your face.

My brain searches desperately

to find that voice, to recognise.

After all, how many times has your voice

been the last thing I heard at night?

The first thing in the morning?

It's almost painful,

and for a minute I feel like I've lost you.

That voice is an enemy,

making me an outcast.

I'm not a part of this family

and I'd love nothing more than to rip out that throat.

                        Stop

and replace it with your own, rounded and smooth.

I knew when I met you

who you were, where you'd lived.

But to me this Yorkshire is new.

It's rough and wild and crass.

When you introduce me I feel a fool.

I try to grasp this new language

by the horns but end up trampled.

 

--

 

It took a while, but I'm here.

You had to remind me who you were.

And as I accepted you back as you, no imposter,

I realised how hard it must have been for you

to give it up. This language, these people.

Home.