Je Suis Orikusis

Lyrics

[Intro]
(accordion — a waltz, but with something slightly off in the phrasing, a rhythm that grew up in one country and moved to another)
(finger snaps — on the two and four)
(upright bass walks in with the confidence of a woman who has been walking since before dawn)

[Verse 1]
Je suis Orikusis — tôi là Orikusis
The name is new — the woman isn't
I was built from a village and a visa
And the distance between the two
Is the length of my singing voice
Which stretches from a kitchen in the provinces
To a stage on Rue des Martyrs
Without once stopping to tune itself

I came with an accent
That the city tried to iron out
The way you iron a silk blouse —
Carefully
With steam
And the impression
That the wrinkle is a problem
But the wrinkle — cher — the wrinkle
Was the only interesting thing
About the blouse

[Pre-Chorus]
(strings swell, the melody climbing, torch-song emotion)
They said: smooth it out
They said: practise in the mirror
I practised in the mirror
And the mirror spoke Vietnamese
When it thought no one was listening

[Chorus]
(full waltz — accordion, strings, brushed drums, finger snaps, the room moving)
Je suis Orikusis, je suis Orikusis
I am the wrinkle in the silk
Je suis Orikusis, je suis Orikusis
I am the village in the milk
Of the café crème I'm drinking
While the city does its thinking
I am two women in one dress
And the dress fits both
But the seam — mon Dieu — the seam
Is where the interesting lives
The seam is where the accent slips
The seam is where the village sips
Its morning tea inside my French
And both of them
Are better
For the blend

[Verse 2]
(stripped — just voice and accordion, Barbara-intimate, confessional)
Tôi có ba ngôn ngữ — I have three languages
The one I dream in — which is the one
My grandmother used to say goodnight
The one I argue in — which is the one
The city gave me when it let me stay
And the one I sing in — which is the one
That happens when the other two
Stop fighting over the vowels
And agree to share the mouth

My sister sings in gold
I sing in the alloy
The mix of everything
That didn't quite combine
But held together anyway
The way a family holds together —
Not because the pieces fit
But because the holding
Is the only shape they know

[Pre-Chorus]
(strings return, the emotion building)
They said: choose one
They said: you can't be both
I said: watch me
And the watching
Is this song

[Chorus]
(full, the waltz at its peak)
Je suis Orikusis, je suis Orikusis
I am the wrinkle in the silk
Je suis Orikusis, je suis Orikusis
I am the village in the milk
Of the café crème I'm drinking
While the city does its thinking
I am two women in one dress
And the dress fits both

[Bridge]
(the waltz slows — voice and piano, the most tender moment)
Bà ngoại ơi — grandmother
You sent me with a suitcase
And the suitcase had your recipes
And your recipes had your hands in them
And your hands
Have been showing up
In my cooking
And my singing
And the way I fold a napkin
Into something
That looks French
But opens Vietnamese

(accordion returns, gentle, warm)

I am the fold
I am the crease
I am the woman
Who made peace
With being neither and being both
And the both — the both —
Is not a compromise
The both is the richest country
On the map
The one with two flags
And one heartbeat
And a national anthem
Nobody else can sing
Because the anthem
Requires three tongues
And a grandmother
And a suitcase
And a cold street
And the willingness
To walk it
Every morning
Without ironing out
A single
Beautiful
Wrinkle

[Outro]
(full waltz — the band swinging, the café alive)
Je suis Orikusis
(the accent full, proud, the village present)
Tôi là Orikusis
The wrinkle
The fold
The seam
The blend
(finger snaps — four, then:)
And I don't iron
(a laugh — real, warm, the song ending with her smile)
(accordion plays the waltz out, the phrasing still slightly off-rhythm, still walking between two countries)