Seasore - Jacob Gur

You say “She sells seashells at the seashore”
as “sea sells seashells at the seasore.”
Your tongue clings to the transparent Hindi “r”
as if it were caramel.
Your “sore” rings with pride and joy of making English
sound like your tongue.

The seasore is aching, purple, swollen, and throbbing.
All the fisherfolk for miles around dart out
to rub it with plantain leaves—
my grandmother’s method.
That makes the fishes’ eyes water and turns
the sea into salt.

Yet the fisherfolk sing as they rub
and the fishes grin through their tears.