I left my shoes elsewhere.
They were embarrassingly dazzling, sequins
And fake jewels
Glinting in the sunlight.
(Not that there’s much sun in this country.)
I left my voice elsewhere.
It was too heavy to carry both, so I made the choice
Mastered the local tongue,
Though it still sounds off-key to me.
Too low: the sound of misunderstandings.
(Not that I seek understanding.)
I left my tastebuds elsewhere.
They made my neighbours glare at me over the garden fence,
Nostrils affronted by spices, gaze fixed
On the turmeric stains on my English blouse.
I left my culture elsewhere.
If you find it, will you let me know?