It takes attending to your mothers’s whalesong

which can extend for thousands of miles,

reverberating waves through the body

guiding toward water of dark,

water of obscurité.

 

How the water around you is familiar

in the way your mothers tongue is

familiar. It takes getting

sonorous, loud

 

in your deepness—it takes venturing

into inconnue—So you can

forge a fresh

dialect,

 

Sing your own song. Decouvrir, as your mother

always says. Of removing covers and

reaching into the au courant.

You look

 

to your mother afraid of what might be

out there. She smiles, sings.

C'est à l'intérieur de toi.

It is inside you