It rarely happened when I lived in Seattle,
because I codeswitched
SO HARD
to sound “respectable” and “educated” —

But the past few months, I’ve had a number of
folks comment on my vernacular.
I’ve apparently started to forget
which words only sound right
to folks from ’round here.

I’ve started to forget not to say “piddlin’ around”
or “pert’ near plumb”
to outsiders
who haven’t really been interested in anything
I have to say since
I came home anyway.

I’ve started to forget
“I’d have f**ked a ham sandwich,”
— a perfectly accurate, clinical description
of what being prescribed way too much testosterone feels like —
is a distinctly Arkansan expression
that raises eyebrows and elicits
guffaws in California.

I learned the word “guffaw”
in an Arkansas public school
before this here age when
teachers are no longer allowed to protect
transgender students or else
the school district will lose its state funding
for stopping the bullies.

Weird how we learned a word to express
laughter, amusement
in such a terrible place,
almost like the oppression isn’t all there is to us,
as if there is something to live for
here in the South.

I’ve started to forget that
“Bless your pea-pickin’ heart” makes people giggle,
until I hear them giggle,
and somehow, now,
I don’t automatically understand why they think it’s funny
anymore
like I understood when I was a child, so
eager to take voice lessons
and sound smart.

Weird how hard it is to remember now
what it felt like to be ashamed
of my roots.

I’ve started to forget why I ever cared
about codeswitching to avoid their judgments
about Southerners —
our education,
our competency,
our perspectives,
our values,
our value —

in the first place?