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?