Fluency Thinks in That Language

Word by word and phrase by phrase,
The dead rise out of the past
To touch the back of your neck,

Or at least it feels that way.
All reading is translation,
A skill requiring training,

But translation into what?
Your memories of voices,
Gestures, faces, the people

You’ve known outside of writing,
Or outside and inside both.
You’re translating cuneiform,

Hieroglyphics, alphabets,
Any form, into living
Thoughts inside your living flesh,

No wonder you feel haunted.
But you aren’t, really, are you?
No more than when you started

With the memories you had
Of the people that you’ve known.
These aren’t them or anyone

Reaching you out of writing.
Part of you translates, but part
Of you feels these words as words.