I hear this dialect
With its silent “J”
Singing everywhere.
It is Wednesday’s market
Near Santa Monica beach
With the scent of Persian basil
Chinese sugar peas
and Mexican jalapenos.
A woman smiles at me
Behind the jars of honey.
Flowers have covered her muumuu
And “B”‘s are buzzing in her words.
I walk over the bridge
Looking at the cars below,
Passing, oblivious to me.
I know, on Freeways
All signs are written in English.
But my sorrow knows only Persian.
March 30, 1993
Persian original