greek

i'm learning greek
in the hollow hours of my indian summer
the sounds fit in my mouth
like the curves the alphabet settle on my lined paper
i picture myself
explaining the color of strawberries
to old greek men with creased faces
and wisps of white hair fleeing from their temples
the syllables stick stubbornly to the flesh of my tongue
and audible figurines of resonant sounds
drip from my fingertips
i'm sure that all the hunched grandmothers
who smell of feta and olive oil
will take my face into their soft motherly hands
and marvel at my incompetence