Code-switch Maria Cohut

Maria Cohut

Code-switch

A subtle shift in dream register portends it: one door, unstuck between home and home, speaking in tongues, vowels jammed at the back of my throat as I pedal through the usual answers - “yes, I live here,” where “here” is any given place that holds breath for me.

My feet might describe it as the comfort of treading water, of being swept up with the memory of sand, from pebble to dust, dust consolidated into sheer cliff top overseeing the freedom promised by the horizon.

Those tall tales of belonging have carved themselves into the fabric of sleep: a language I never cease to forget.