I left one shore,
I did not leave the sea.
Two languages in my hands,
two lands beneath my feet.
They told me: « choose ».
I answered: I connect.
For a bridge takes no side —
it has two ends.
Togo in the voice,
Canada underfoot,
and between them, this thread of gold
that nothing could cut.
— Z. M.
I write poems the way I build bridges: to hold together what others ask us to separate.
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