English sits in her mouth remixed so "strawberry" becomes "eh-strawbeddy" and "cookie" becomes "eh-cookie" and kitchen, key chain, and chicken all sound the same. my mama doesn't say "yes" she says, "ah ha" and suddenly the sky in her mouth becomes a Hector Lavoe song. her tongue can't lay itself down flat enough for the English language, it got too much hip too much bone too much conga too much cuatro to two step got too many piano keys in between her teeth, it got too much clave too much hand clap got too much salsa to sit still it be an anxious child wanting to make Play-Doh out of concrete English be too neat for her kind of wonderful. her words spill in conversation between women whose hands are all they got sometimes our hands are all we got and accents that remind us that we are still bomba, still plena you say "wepa" and a stranger becomes your hermano, you say "dale" and a crowd becomes a family reunion. my mother's tongue is a telegram from her mother decorated with the coqui's of el campo so even when her lips can barely stretch themselves around english, her accent is a stubborn compass always pointing her towards home.
El inglés de su boca sale remezclado así "strawberry" se torna "eh-strawbeddy" y "cookie" se vuelve "eh-cookie" y "kitchen", "key chain", y "chicken" suena todo igual. Mamá no dice "yes", ella dice "ajá", y de repente el cierlo en su boca se vuelve una canción de Héctor Lavoe. No puede aplanar su voz lo suficiente para el idioma inglés, tiene demasiada cadera, demasiado hueso, demasiada conga, demasiado cuatro para dos pasos, tiene demasiadas teclas de piano entre sus dientes, demasiada clave, demasiadas palmas, demasiada salsa para estar quieta. Es como una niña ansiosa que quiere hacer masa de modelar con el concreto.