Not a religious poem, but a stab at one none the less.
Langue d' Levant
Yours was the obscure tongue of my youth.
Paternally familiar,
Though narrowly so.
And like my father’s mother,
I’ve never truly known you.
Was it despite you?
How easily am I filled with sentimentality,
When the air slowly brings to my senses
Your gnarled but beautiful melody.
And though I am 10,000 miles from my youth,
I am in a familiar place.
A strange woman,singing your song.
Her delivery, exquisite; Mannerisms, present.
I am filled with grandmothers house.
The kitchen table, cigarette-smoke filled air.
Backgammon and the yelling,
Which wasn’t really yelling I later learned.
Teta. Jeddo.
All gone.
I can say and believe I am proud of you.
But I am defeated.