Generational Acculturation

Between thumb and fingers,

she clutches the metal tool tightly,   her impressions

bringing forth rich symbolic magic, the meaning passed on and on and on.

she looks up and sees her Grandmother seated in the corner chair,

always with her head down.

Between thumb and fingers,

she clutches the metal tool tightly,   her impressions

bringing forth rich symbolic magic, the meaning passed on and on and on.

she looks up and sees her Granddaughter seated across the room,

always with her head down.

On the wall, he sees her story;

bent over in the field, black pajamas, pink belt the same color as the crops

his eyes scan the paj ntau for the violent soldiers,

but they all look the same,

confused by the jumbled lines,

he sometimes forgets the meaning.

On the “wall,” she sees his story;

bent over at his desk, he points to the memes in English bold print

her eyes scan the screen for the violent bullies,

but it all looks the same,

confused by the jumbled lines,

she sometimes forgets the meaning.

She sits patiently, while her Teacher speaks

she fumbles with her hands, just out of view

trying to think of how to share his words,

out of the corner of her eye, she sees

her stoic Father nodding along to the Teacher’s admonition,

and she worries about his reputation.

He sits patiently, while her teacher speaks

he fumbles with his hands, just out of view

trying to think of how to share his words,

out of the corner of his eye, he sees

his dutiful daughter nodding along to the Teacher’s instructions,

and has no worries about his reputation.