Language Barrier

by Saniya Smith

I feel my mouth pull-savage
eyebrows draw in, eyes squint narrow

Shinálí asdzą́ą́ stands
mesa-tall and gazes up

I fling cascading words to wound,
“Why didn’t you teach me?”

Countenance earth-weathered
flinches-quick

“Why didn’t you teach me
my language?”

Weary chasm-bagged
eyes shimmer-heavy
shoulders stoop low

I find lungs fearfully stiff
eyes quiver-relentless regret
ignorant blame flash floods away

Shinálí asdzą́ą́ with velveteen
sleeves around elbows slender
trimmed nails caked white

turns slow

Shaniya Smith is Bitter Water, born for Near the Mountain People. As a Diné artist, fiction writer, and poet, she draws from her experience growing up in a culture meshed with brokenness and deep resilience. A recipient of the Dockstader Fellowship, she is currently pursuing her MFA at Northern Arizona University.