Poetry Corner

My Grandpa’s Accent

Me, Reporter

My grandpa’s accent is enough to make your face wrinkle in disgust
But you’ve never had to balance a second language on your tongue
And even if you think you could
Remember that his mother tongue makes beautiful words
That leave English at a loss for letters.
This is for those that have grandparents like mine,
The ones
Who learned and lost their true language
Trying to translate their existence

The World That Shapes Our Fathers
By Me
An environment of silence has turned
Our fathers into men
With an uproar
Building inside of them
That aren’t allowed to rain
Their mouths stained with smiles that constantly fade
Filled with regret and sadness
Dwelling on past memories
They clap in pride
As we talk about the minor accomplishments of our young life