I want to be two-tongued again
To go back to the time when I slipped
from one language to another with ease,
when I knew the contours of my Irish home.
To stand with Dad by the window, chat
in the room of our own tongue about my day,
my dreams. I want him to listen, really listen.
To be fluent again in the language I forget.
It’s a different house now, furniture sharp-edged,
doors and windows in the wrong place.
Irish says: I have sadness, joy upon me.
There are no words for yes or no. Dying
is caught, like a cold or a breath.
There are four words for family.
I always choose the wrong one.
Duolingo takes my hearts away.
Liz Byrne is from Dublin and now lives near Manchester. Her poetry appears in Orbis, Agenda, Butcher’s Dog, Crannog, Strix, The North and Under the Radar. She won the Best Landscape Poem, Ginkgo Prize, 2020 and was placed third in the Ginkgo Prize, 2021.