Tango: Speaking in her Accent

Tango-Akzent


Near the border of France
I enter a milonga in Saarbrücken.
She is French,
We speak in German.
But our mutual language is tango.

The music starts.
Our embrace, melds two hearts,
Two cultures.
And like tango, a dance of immigrants,
Our souls transmigrate to a place we both have never been.
Our movements interpret a tango both familiar and new.


My feet had spoken this same tango in my kitchen two days before.
But now I speak with a strong French accent, her accent,
Her way of making what I say different.
New to me, new to her.

Now I lead her down a familiar path,

But she opens a gate to a new place.

I see a French garden with a fountain.

I have never been to this place.

Neither has she,

Although I was sure it was her favorite place.

I speak with the accent of each tanguera I hold.

The magic of tango is the moment I am no longer just me.