When I came to

This foreign place

To visit him,

He gave me a fake name.

He told me what to call him,

And exactly how to say it.

It turned out to be

A dirty word

In his language.

Every time I called to him,

He snickered.

Every time I

Longed for him,

It was a joke on me.

But he told me

It was his name,

And I thought it was beautiful,

A foreign phrase

That had no meaning

Except what one was

Told that it should be.

But one day 

In a small cafe,

Where he and I sat eating,

He rose to go

And his wallet fell,

And when I called to him

To tell him,

The other patrons giggled.

His face got red,

And he glared at me.

He left me here,

Like a child,

A stranger

In a strange land

With strange customs.

The restaurant owners

Took me in,

And I began to work

At the cafe,

But I am wary of 

Who I trust to teach me

The language here,

And how I’m taught 

To say the words.

I listen to the customers,

To hear how

Regular people say them.

I am wary of everything,

And only hope

Someday 

I will find my way back home.

-jenn