I scold my mother again,
for her pronounciations
they sound wrong, she speaks
like an illiterate clerk transcribing books
by drawing the shape of letters
i think of a Haitian birth certificate I once saw
written in phonetic French
that i could read if i spoke the words aloud
in xeroxes of color photographs
she's saying my hair is red
because she remembers it that way
it's rust, copper, not red, i say
she nods, yes, red.
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