My hyphen is a dagger
I hide in my hand—reminding you
that I am insert-adjective-American—not
American—translating
gibberish into meaning—and
hyphens into daggers into nonsense—and
back again—whirling, wondering,
“So, do you speak foreign?”—and
reaching for the hyphen, the dagger
that I hide—only finding
that it is blunt, dull from cutting
my own hand—and
picking at the scabs.