Shela Riva
My mother’s tongue
is not her rebellion
She has never used it
for self empowerment or polarity
to speak out against humanity
or to construct her identity
in the ventures of prose or poetry
Her tongue is not her weapon
It has never maimed another’s dignity
Never questioned one’s divinity
She never used her tongue to threaten
one’s right to their own perception
Neither is her tongue her shield
I have never heard it come to her defence
in confrontations and domestic offense,
No self-preserving retaliations
against the crimes of patriarchy that tried
time and time
to disassemble her pride
My mother’s tongue
murmurs a tale of dignity in surrender
like a warrior who never wanted war
in perpetual peaceful protest
of anything other than the harmony
she lives to resemble
She speaks not in the communications of today,
mainstream mixed messages and dogma
to slander our souls and perpetuate our trauma
but in the language of the spirit
of innocence
of sacrifice, stretch marks and birth complications
In the face of infidelity and trust alterations
sung in the original language
of forgiveness
Mama, now I see
you were raised in a time
where the tongue is not used not to give,
but to receive
by being present
in the depths of flavour
of a mother’s cuisine
I once thought you were afraid
because your expression of sadness or anger
were always vague
but I should have paid
attention to the message that followed
in your gifts of life
on a thousand plates
You were urging me to pay no mind
to the projections and shortcomings of others
you spoke validation and comfort to my cells
to nourish and focus on no one else
you were telling me to prioritize myself
My mother’s tongue
is not wasted in vain
to the battles of other’s mental prisons
because she already holds the wisdom
they struggle to attain
And though I ask, she could not say
how she learned
it’s a story not spoken, only heard
through the mystic portal
of life force birthed
My mother’s tongue
is the tongue of Earth
