Loss of

by Danielle Shave

Danielle is a senior at the University of Michigan who is set to graduate fall 2024 with a major in Biochemistry and minors in both Poetry and French. Originally from Rochester Hills, Michigan, she brings a unique blend of her STEM background and artistic pursuits into her academic and creative work. 

Over the past year, she has been a contributing writer for The Michigan Daily, focusing on pieces for the Michigan in Color section. This role has allowed her to explore themes of identity and culture, often through poetry. Her poem, “Loss of”, is featured on the Michigan Daily website and reflects her experiences with multilingualism and cultural heritage. Danielle does not speak her heritage language, Tagalog, so she was inspired by the work of Chamorro poet Craig Santos Perez from Guam, who similarly navigates a disconnect with his heritage language. This shared experience influenced her deeply, allowing her to write “Loss of” where she captures two perspectives: the intense grief of a younger generation witnessing the fading of language and culture, and the older generation’s frustration over the dismantling of their heritage.

Danielle would like readers to keep in mind the poem’s divided structure. The left side expresses the perspective of a young person with some familiarity with their heritage language, while the right side reflects an older parent’s viewpoint. Though both voices express different anger, they share the common understanding of what is being lost. She hopes that readers will keep in mind the dual perspectives, recognizing that while younger and older generations might feel a divide, they ultimately come together through the experience of loss.

Language switches back and forth in my home, lunch in one, dinner in another. Two different tongues, separate but not: three persons one God. It burns a hole in my throat when I speak outside our sanctuary. Burns a hole in my heart, Say something, they say, Prove to us that you know to speak. At least I can say anything at all. You should be so lucky.

My son, I never knew our language, our home. I wish I learned it for you. Wish I could show you the way back to our old world. It is Moses come back once more, taking not our children but our children’s voices, our children’s clamoring hands coming back empty; hands grasping for ink, for words they do not know. But I do. But we do, no salve to soothe these scars.

How have we lost this battle before it has even begun?

[Nothing is fair

in tongue and war.]

This poem can also be found on the Michigan Daily website