Collaring Our Native Tongues

Heard we rattle in the walls, small and rat-tailed rumbles, people ignore. They swear we’re just the pipes—

creaks in the floorboards. Our native tongues crawl out of tight spaces and tumble into silent cracks. We scavenge for substance,

but settle for the need to be heard. Search for the words you tried to exterminate. We know the social norms set

for us are a trap. Our dirt-road, desert stories are called trifle, fleeting, when in the dark you consider us rodent—hard to get rid of.

You cannot lure us with moldy scraps. We know how to sniff out the risk before appearing full faced. Our accents are not welcome

here, presence not loud enough to be heard over your King’s English. We like being quiet, that means you must listen closer.

But sometimes we’d like to be domesticated, taken outside for a walk, or to the park to play catch.

We’d like to be pet and praised for our silence and how well we obeyed.